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shadowtriovibes · 11 months

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pt. i: break a sweat

pt. ii: blood, sweat and tears || pt. iii: sweat it out || pt. iv: never let 'em see you sweat

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Word Count: 5.2k

Rating: E

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV sex, dubious safe sex methods, even more dubious interpretations of how the room of requirement works

Summary: sebastian makes the house quidditch team after training all summer. before his first match, you let him talk you into a bet over its outcome that will in all likelihood ruin your friendship. (merlin, you sure hope it does.)

"Speaking of which," you say, leaning out of the hug just enough to see Sebastian’s face. "What prize will you not be winning?" Sebastian lets his hands drop down to your hips as he murmurs, "I have something in mind." You force yourself not to get distracted. "Do tell." "If I win, I’d like to take you to the Room of Requirement after the game," he says, and the way he grips your sides through your skirt ensures you have no way of misunderstanding what he’s suggesting.

Seeing Sebastian for the first time since the end of your sixth year at Hogwarts is quite the shock.

You knew from his detailed letters that your dearest friend had spent the better part of his summer break training for Quidditch tryouts in the fall, frequently flying down to the Poidsear Coast to log hours and hours at their pitch.

Sometimes he would even bring Anne along with him when she was feeling well enough to ride on the back of his broom. He’d convince her to release a secondhand Snitch for him to track down, and while he hunted it down, she worked on the assignments your professors had set to help her prepare for her return to Hogwarts in the fall.

He’d even written to tell you that he’d never felt more confident on a broom, and that if he only got to have one last season on your house team before leaving school, he was determined to make the absolute most of it.

You knew all of this, and yet when you first see him in the Great Hall for the start-of-term feast, you nearly swoon like a Muggle schoolgirl at the sight of him.

The first thing you notice is that he’s taller. Even seated next to Anne at the Slytherin table, you can see his entire head whereas you can barely make out the top of his sister’s. Sebastian had never seemed that much bigger than his twin before, but things have clearly changed.

Then, you notice that his complexion has changed as well. He’s tan from spending all summer training in the sun, his button-down shirt suddenly looking so crisply white against his sun-kissed face.

His freckles, too – there are so many more.

But that could also just be because there’s simply more Sebastian now. His shoulders are broader, his chest wider, and even his hair has grown long enough to brush upwards into a less haphazard style (though certainly not as severe as Ominis’).

It’s as if your boyish Sebastian from the previous school year had quite suddenly become a grown man in just three short months, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of him.

It takes you a few minutes to adjust as you slide into a seat across from him next to Ominis, and based on the look on Anne’s face, she at least knows what’s got you so flustered.

During a lull in conversation about Anne’s return, you tell Sebastian, “You’re looking fit.”

You hope you can casually get it out of the way, and that no one will dwell on it.

“Am I?” he asks with an easy smile.

“I mean physically,” you insist, remaining one step ahead of him. “I nearly mistook you for one of the Beaters for the Magpies.”

“Sebastian could never be a Beater,” Anne interjects. “He’s too much of a show-off to be anything but the Seeker.”

“I’ll be whatever the team needs me to be,” he insists. “I practiced for all four positions this summer, so wherever they want to slot me in is fine.”

“Silly Sebastian,” Violet McDowell calls out from a few seats down, a wicked grin on her face. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that there are many more positions than just four?”

Your entire end of the table bursts into laughter while Sebastian simply flashes a wicked grin, and you think about using your ancient magic to hurl one of the stacked platters of food in front of you at Violet’s head. (Or maybe you should simply toss her out into the courtyard.)

“Is this how it’s going to be this year?” Anne sighs. “When I left, Sebastian was just an awkward boy with his nose always buried in a book, and now the girls are lusting after him.”

“I’m not thrilled about it either,” Ominis agrees. “He had a big enough head before he was attractive.”

“I think it’s excellent,” Sebastian laughs. “It’s about time everyone realized that I’m the perfect man, and all it took was a little bit of Quidditch practice and one last growth spurt.”

“‘All it took,’” Anne mumbles at the same time Ominis exclaims, “‘Perfect man?!’”

While both his sister and best friend take turns putting dents in Sebastian’s inflated ego, he takes it in stride and sneakily winks at you from across the table when he catches you silently observing, your gaze firmly settled on the sharp line of his jaw.

Sebastian makes a mental note of the fact that you immediately go red. Even if no one else notices, he certainly does.

—

Two weeks later, you and Anne link arms with Ominis to walk down with him to the Quidditch pitch to watch the Slytherin team tryouts.

“Now that I’ve got a brilliant witch on each arm, I suppose I won’t be needing my wand as often to get around,” he teases.

“Please, I know a thing or two about that wand of yours,” Anne replies. “Last year I spent a full month reading books on wandcraft that Sebastian brought me from the library. If I had to guess, I think you can probably ‘see’ more clearly than either of us can. It’s powerful.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Ominis demurs. “I’m just naturally perceptive.”

Once you arrive at the pitch, the three of you take seats along the practice bleachers with a few of your housemates, who chat excitedly when the Slytherin hopefuls begin to take the field.

You spot Sebastian quickly, even among nearly two dozen others in green practice uniforms circling for warmups on their brooms. Compared to how big he’d looked at the start of term in just his school robes, he’s huge now – equipped with pads across his shoulders, forearms and shins that accentuate his muscular form.

He’d declined a helmet, of course, because despite his newfound bulk he’s still the same exasperatingly headstrong boy you’ve nurtured a crush on for nearly your entire school career.

“Between us, what do you think his chances are of making the team?” you ask Anne.

“Truthfully?” she smirks. “I think he’ll have his pick of positions, unless Imelda wants to humble him on purpose.”

“Which one would be humbling?” you ask, amused.

“Probably Chaser,” she muses. “He’d be an excellent Chaser, of course, but it’s his least favorite.”

“I’ll bet he becomes a Beater,” Ominis offers. “Without the Dark Arts, I’d like him to have some sort of outlet for his intensity.”

“Fine, then I’ll say… Keeper,” you say, smiling to yourself at your private joke that only Sebastian would appreciate. “Because that way he’ll get to stay in one place the whole game and know that everyone’s eyes are on him.”

—

Shortly after tryouts wrap up, Imelda sequesters herself in the girls’ dorm to put together her official roster and the majority of Slytherin’s upperclassmen start passing around Butterbeers while they settle in to await her decision.

Sebastian is inarguably the center of attention, casually leaning against a table in the corner with Anne at his side. A flock of fifth-year girls crowds around him to listen intently as he talks about the impressive diving save he’d made, capturing the Snitch just feet from the ground.

“He’s going to be insufferable now,” Ominis groans while the two of you watch from across the room. “There’s barely enough room for his ego in this friendship as it is.”

“Come now, we can keep him in check,” you laugh. “Especially with Anne here.”

“It’s really good to have her back,” Ominis agrees softly, smiling to himself when he hears Anne’s voice through the noise, telling Sebastian’s fan club how he’d attempted a similar save over the summer and ended up crashing into a derelict poacher camp.

Huh.

However, before you can spend too much more time thinking about Ominis and Anne, you hear the noise in the room spike as Imelda saunters down the stairs, a rolled-up piece of parchment in her hand.

“Who’s ready to meet this year’s Slytherin Quidditch team?” she calls out, and the entire room bursts into excited cheers.

She starts to read off from her list, allowing brief pauses for applause after each name. You and Ominis snake through the common room to stand by Sebastian. He seems to be perfectly calm, but by now you can recognize some telltale tension lingering in his jaw.

Anne holds one of his hands to reassure him, swaying a bit nervously herself.

While Imelda works her way down the list, the four of you learn that hasn’t been named Slytherin’s Keeper. He’s not a Beater either, nor is he ultimately a Chaser.

“Lastly, your newest Seeker,” Imelda teases as she reaches the end of the list. “...It’s obviously Sallow!”

Sebastian beams brilliantly while Anne pulls him into a tight hug, and Ominis smiles and murmurs his congratulations to his friend, assuring him he always knew he’d make the team.

There are several other girls quick to offer their congratulations as well, but you wait for the crowd around him to thin out and for Anne to escort Ominis to get more Butterbeers before you sidle up next to Sebastian and nudge your shoulder against his.

“Excellent work, Bash,” you murmur. “You put on quite a show at tryouts.”

“Only because you were watching,” he flirts back, and you roll your eyes fondly.

Since the start of term, he’s been relentless with his play-flirting. You resist it as much as you can, but it always makes your heart race when he calls you “love,” or offers to carry your books for you, or even charms little notes poking fun at your classmates into tiny birds that gracefully land on your desk during classes.

(You don’t have the heart to ask him to knock it off, because even though you know he doesn’t mean it, it still feels nice to be the center of his attention.)

“Then I’ll have to come to see you start in next week’s match,” you offer. “Especially if you only play that well when I’m watching.”

“You can be my good luck charm,” he jokes. “Felix Felicis is prohibited, but you’re not.”

“That was awful,” you laugh, but Sebastian just grins.

“Tell you what,” he says after a moment. “We should make a bet on it.”

“A bet?” you ask. “On what, that you’ll win?”

He shakes his head. “Too easy, we’re playing Ravenclaw, we’ll obviously win. I mean something more challenging.”

“You’re clearly confident,” you tell him. “What are your terms?”

He considers his offer for a moment and then says, “I’ll bet that I can catch the Snitch in under thirty minutes. I’ll even let you be the official timekeeper, since I’ll be a bit preoccupied.”

“Under thirty?” you ask skeptically. “That’s nearly professional, Sebastian. Ominis told me most games last at least an hour.”

“I’ve been practicing all summer,” he insists. “Anne would release a Snitch and I’d even give it a five-minute head start, but I never let one get further away from me than the far side of Marunweem Lake.”

“Careful, Sebastian, you sound quite cocky,” you murmur, and you think you see Sebastian’s gaze dip down to your mouth for a split second.

“I am,” he agrees. “In fact, I’ll even let you pick your prize first, for if you win.”

“Alright,” you laugh. “When I win, I want… for you to write my History of Magic assignments for the next month.

“That’s it?” he scoffs. “You could have anything and you want me to write your essays?”

“I didn’t start studying magic with the rest of you lot, and I don’t know a lot of the foundational things that Binns wants us to reference,” you remind him. “You know your history much better than I do, and I need to bump my ‘Acceptable’ up to ‘Exceeds Expectations’ by the time N.E.W.T.s roll around.”

“Love, I would’ve done them for you anyway,” Sebastian says dismissively, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning at the nickname. “Pick something fun.”

“Fine,” you reply. “I want…”

You consider your options for a moment, trying to think of something that isn’t either obscene or pathetic. Finally, you have an idea.

“There is one thing I’ve been thinking about,” you tell him, a secret smile on your lips.

Sebastian perks up, leaning in closer. “Go on then.”

“I want you to help me set up Anne and Ominis,” you say carefully, watching him for any signs that he’s about to blow up.

He just blinks at you, bewildered. “What.”

“I think they would be a lovely couple,” you croon. “And I know she’s your sister and you’re, y’know...”

“I’m what?” he demands.

“You’re very protective of her,” you say tactfully. “But we’re all adults now, and I think they really understand each other. I want you to help me convince them that they should give it a chance.”

Sebastian is quiet for several long moments.

“Well,” he finally murmurs. “I would prefer it if Anne never dated anyone so I wouldn’t have any more reasons to worry about her, but I suppose if she must, Ominis is a good man.”

You shout excitedly and wrap your arms around his impossibly broad shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. He easily allows it, fondly pressing his nose to your hair.

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter though, since you won’t win and I’ll never have to aid you in your scheming,” he murmurs against your temple.

“Speaking of which,” you say, leaning out of the hug just enough to see Sebastian’s face. “What prize will you not be winning?”

Sebastian lets his hands drop down to your hips as he murmurs, “I have something in mind.”

You force yourself not to get distracted. “Do tell.”

“If I win, I’d like to take you to the Room of Requirement after the game,” he says, and the way he grips your sides through your skirt ensures you have no way of misunderstanding what he’s suggesting.

“O-oh?” you ask softly, squirming a little in his grasp. “Just me?”

“Just you,” he confirms.

His eyes are dark, and despite the cacophony of the room around you both, he’s focused solely on you.

“And what would we be doing in the Room of Requirement?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t even dignify your question with a response. Instead, he deliberately drags his thumbs across your hips, raking his gaze down your body and back up with a pointed look.

“You mean it?” you ask him quietly. “You aren’t just teasing like earlier?”

“When was I teasing?” Sebastian asks, amused.

“This whole time,” you insist, fidgeting nervously with the laces at the front of his Quidditch shirt. “All the flirting, all this back-and-forth… You’re just winding me up.”

“I’m not,” he says quietly. “I thought about you all summer, love. I missed you like mad, and I sincerely want you.”

Merlin.

Some bold part of you steps a little closer so you can lean in close to his ear and ask, “Are you sure we shouldn’t just go to the Room of Requirement right now?”

You hear Sebastian swallow and exhale sharply.

“N-not now,” he answers. “After the match. I just…”

He doesn’t really have the words to articulate it, but he wants to earn your affection. He has to prove he’s good enough first, that you aren’t making a mistake by letting him finally force your close friendship into something more.

“Alright,” you acquiesce, gently brushing your lips against his cheekbone. “Just don’t get too distracted and fall off your broom, because I actually want you to win.”

“The match or the bet?” he asks in a low voice.

You just take a step back with a teasing grin, and before you disappear into the crowd to find your friends, you murmur, “Wouldn’t you like to know, Sallow.”

—

It’s so many flights of stairs up to the Room of Requirement. You almost feel bad for Sebastian, but not enough to stop relentlessly tugging him up countless flights in the quiet Astronomy Tower.

He must be exhausted already, you assume. While the match itself had only lasted twenty-seven minutes and forty seconds, he spent nearly all of them racing around the pitch alongside Ravenclaw’s Seeker, eyes trained on any flash of light that shimmered like gold.

He’d even taken a Bludger to his right thigh. You’d felt like you were going to be sick just watching it collide with him, but he’d merely dropped a few feet with a wince and sped off again.

Not even a damn Bludger could knock him off his broom.

(As soon as your nausea had dissipated, you’d felt another dizzying wave of sensation take over slightly south of your stomach.)

Just as he’d promised, he quickly caught up with the Snitch near the base of the Hufflepuff student section, landing not-so-neatly in the muddy grass with one arm thrown up in the air. He was evidently clutching the struggling Snitch and beaming so hugely you could see it from your spot in the stands fifty feet in the air.

As soon as Madam Kogawa blew her whistle, the Slytherins had begun to move en masse toward the stairs, preparing to turn their common room into the official site of the year’s first not-so-clandestine party.

You, however, snuck away from the group and lingered outside the team’s changing area. Inside, you could hear raised voices.

“Imelda, you don’t understand,” Sebastian was whining. “I need to go now.”

“There’s a way we do things here, Sallow,” she had argued “I’m the captain, and if I say we’re going to discuss the game before anyone leaves, you stay.”

Sebastian had a few choice words to say to that but ultimately relented, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly while you leaned against one of the canvas walls that lined the interior channels of the pitch. Ultimately, it only took about ten minutes to discuss how everyone could improve – and Imelda’s only suggestion for Sebastian had been to try to find a dryer patch of grass on which to land next time.

Seconds later, he’d burst through the door and started to take off toward the castle.

“Bash!” you called out. “Not so fast.”

When he turned and spotted you, his face lit up.

“You waited for me,” he breathed.

“Of course I did,” you said. “I believe you’ve won a prize, and the nature of it is time-sensitive.”

He looked like an utter rake with that crooked smile on his lips. He was still in his uniform head to toe, his hair even messier than usual thanks to his helmet. He’d even kept his pads on, so when he reached out to take your hand, you felt impossibly small next to him.

“Shall we?” he asks, and then the two of you were off.

By the time you reach the Room and ensure no house elves are present, you’re both out of breath and panting.

“Come here,” you whine, throwing your arms around his shoulders and messily kissing along his jawline.

“W-wait,” he stammers. “Let me get these pads off, and–”

He cuts himself off, making a face.

“I need to clean up,” he tells you, suddenly self-conscious. “I must look like hell.”

“You look obscene,” you reply, dragging your hands down his chest pads. “Which is obviously a compliment.”

He wraps his hands around your wrists to stop you from attempting to undo the laces at the front of his trousers. “Just – just let me clean off first, the prefects’ bathroom isn’t far and I got the password off of Weasley.”

“No, don’t leave,” you whine, and Sebastian is merely a man, he can’t resist the girl he’s been in love with for years when she’s begging him to take his pants off.

“I must smell foul,” he laughs. “You’re – you’re seriously okay with this?”

“Look where we are, Sebastian,” you croon, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the side of his neck. “Just imagine what you need.”

For your part, you imagine a plush armchair where you can wrangle Sebastian into finally taking a seat, and one quickly spins to life just behind him. You take advantage of his distraction to shove him backwards toward it and climb astride lap.

“It’s the Room of Requirement,” you tease him, straddling his thighs and dragging your nose along his cheek so he’ll tip his head back for you. “If you require something, the Room provides.”

“I require a bath,” he drawls, cursing quietly when you gently bite just over his pulse point. “Quickly, please, Room.”

Sebastian waits patiently while you eagerly strip him of his pads, but the Room doesn’t change.

“I thought you said you’ve taken baths here,” he points out skeptically. “In a huge basin, like the prefects have.”

“I have,” you insist, frowning. “I don’t know why it’s not…”

Then you trail off, your realization making you go red.

“Go on, love,” Sebastian murmurs, sliding a hand up the back of your thigh to lazily palm at your ass underneath your skirt. “I know that face, you’ve figured it out. What’s the problem?”

“W-well, it’s my Room,” you tell him sheepishly. “So it, um… I suppose it defaults to what I require.”

“And what you require,” Sebastian says slowly, “is for me to not take a bath?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassed.

“I… I suppose the Room must have deduced that I – I like you like this,” you whisper, dragging your hands across his rumpled Quidditch shirt. “And I don’t need to wait for you to clean off.”

“You don’t?” Sebastian asks, his eyes now impossibly dark. “You’d let me touch you just like this? I’m a mess, I’m covered in sweat and mud and probably some blood, even.”

“Don’t care,” you breathe, sliding your hands underneath the hem of his shirt. “I want you now, Sebastian, exactly like this.”

He says some absolutely filthy words under his breath, sitting back so he can strip off his filthy uniform shirt. You can’t get your hands on his body fast enough, hurriedly familiarizing yourself with his sculpted core, broad chest, and strong shoulders.

He’s less of a mess underneath where his shirt had lain, but his skin is still warm and damp with sweat from the match. You want to put your mouth all over him, everywhere – and there’s so much of him to explore.

“I couldn’t believe it when I first saw you like this,” you confess to him. “You’ve gotten bigger since last spring, and so handsome… how did you become a man in just one summer?”

“You think I’m the only one who changed this summer?” he asks with a low voice. “Look at you.”

“What about me?” you ask dumbly.

His hands go straight for your chest, roughly tugging open your uniform shirt with no regard for the longevity of its buttons.

“Here,” he murmurs, his hands cupping your breasts through your thin brassiere. “I can assure you that I noticed where you’ve grown bigger.”

You gasp softly as he tugs down on the cups of your bra until he can lean in and press his mouth to your skin, sucking on one of your nipples and then the other.

“And here,” he murmurs into your chest, his hands returning to the backs of your thighs and sliding up your ass. “You have all these curves now, love, and they’re driving me mad.”

“Sebastian,” you whimper. “Take off my clothes.”

He helps you wrestle your skirt up over your head and tosses it recklessly as far as he can. When you’re left in nothing but your undergarments, Sebastian wraps one strong arm around your lower back and hooks the other below your hips, easily standing up from the armchair to walk you over to the bed you’d hastily imagined into existence.

Once he has you on your back, he tugs down your last remaining garment and leaves you bare and exposed to him, breathless and flushed all over.

“Your turn,” you remind him, even though part of you wishes he could leave the uniform pants on (despite the impracticality).

Once he manages to peel off the last of his clothes, he settles on his knees between your legs and skims a hand up your body, from the curve of your hip all the way up to your cheek.

“Is this too fast?” he asks you softly. “Did I ask too much?”

Your heart aches. Sebastian always stuns you with his sincerity when you least expect it.

You turn your head to kiss his palm and murmur, “No, love.”

His shoulders drop a little, the last of the tension he’d been carrying all week draining from his body. He wants, he always wants so damn badly and he would never forgive himself if he marred your first time with each other by rushing you.

“Can I touch you?” he asks in a hushed voice.

“Please,” you whine, letting your knees fall wide.

(Whether or not the other has ever done this before is still a mystery to you both, and it’s not something you’ll discuss until afterward. But right now, it’s of no importance to you.)

For a while, Sebastian’s hands roam your body without an agenda, acquainting himself with your breasts, your hips, the insides of your thighs. You moan softly when he drags his thumb along your slit, spreading your wetness around until he can easily rub slow circles over your clit.

“How do you feel?” he asks you.

“Good,” you gasp. “So good, Sebastian, like that.”

“Do you want more?” he offers, and you frantically nod, one of your hands fisting the pillow behind your head.

He carefully presses one long finger inside you, glancing between your face and your entrance to make sure you’re comfortable the entire time. One finger quickly becomes two, and when two nearly becomes three, you have to pause and take a breath.

“Enough,” you pant. “That’s enough.”

“Are you sure?” he asks you.

You reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, giving him a few slow strokes while he leaks precum onto your hand and groans helplessly.

“I want you,” you insist. “I’ve wanted you.”

“R-right, yeah,” he agrees, trying to clear his head and focus on the task at hand. “Enough.”

He gently nudges your hand away so he can guide himself inside you, one hand wrapped around himself and the other gently pressing on your inner thigh to keep you still for him.

Underneath Sebastian like this, pinned to the mattress by his hips and hands, he completely overtakes your senses. He’s all you can see, all you can touch — you even taste and smell him.

Masculine sweat. Dark brown eyes. Crisp autumn air. The curve of his collarbone where it meets his shoulder. Woodsmoke. A million tiny freckles. Metallic blood from a split lip. Flashes of copper in his messy curls. Singed pine needles.

Sebastian groans low in his throat as he presses in, his hair falling into his eyes before he frantically brushes it away so he can see you take him for the first time.

Once he’s fully seated inside you, he bends down and presses his forehead against yours.

“Tell me,” he begs, his hand curling gently around the back of your neck to hold you close.

“Tell you what?” you whisper, your lips brushing against his with every syllable.

“Tell me that it feels like this for you,” he practically breathes into you. “It feels like you’re — you’re everywhere, like you’re all there is.”

“Sebastian,” you whimper, and his hips snap against yours.

“Say it,” he growls. “Please.”

“You’re all there is,” you gasp. “You’re all mine, Bash.”

He makes a sound like you’ve sucker-punched him, messily kissing wherever he can get his mouth on you – your cheek, your jaw, your lips. All the while he’s fucking you open with relentless, eager thrusts.

He’s not going to last long, but you don’t expect him to. You just want him to feel good – the two of you have already wasted enough time not doing this, so why delay satisfaction?

You wrap your legs around his hips to hold him against you, rocking your own hips upward to meet him and coax him closer to the edge.

“I’m going to come,” he grits out, grinding into you desperately the closer he gets to his climax. “Can I finish inside?”

“N-no,” you whimper. There’s a potion you can drink to make it safe that takes an entire week to brew, and the batch that’s currently bubbling away at your potions station across the Room isn’t quite ready yet.

“Where?” he begs.

“Anywhere else, wherever you want,” you promise him, your mind quickly tossing out mental images of him spilling himself across your breasts, into your mouth, on the curve of your back.

He pulls out of you with a reluctant moan and kneels between your open thighs, wrapping a hand around his cock to finish himself off. You watch his eyes while he takes you in, seemingly torn between meeting your gaze and staring transfixed at your fingers between your thighs as you get closer to finishing yourself.

“Next time, love,” you murmur softly. “The next time you fuck me you can finish in me, I’ll take it all.”

“Promise?” he asks breathlessly, still an incorrigible flirt even when he’s seconds away from his orgasm.

“Promise,” you whine, spreading your legs a little wider when you catch his gaze lingering again.

You’re so close, desperately rolling your hips against your own hand until you tip over the edge, the rush of your release arching your back before you collapse lazily against the bed.

He shuffles forward and groans your name just before he spills, leaving a warm, wet mess all over your stomach and between your hips. You feel properly claimed – especially when he flops down next to you and immediately tugs you against his chest, unbothered by his release smearing between your bodies.

“You’re amazing,” he breathes into your hair. “Merlin, I love you.”

“You love me?” you whisper against his collarbone.

“Enduringly,” he says.

You rest your cheek against his chest and listen to his racing heartbeat for a few moments before you tell him, “I love you too, you know.”

Just then, the Room starts to rumble.

“What’s going on?” Sebastian asks, urgently peering around for his wand.

He quickly settles and even laughs under his breath when he sees the Room shifting around the two of you to provide a spacious, sunken bathtub in the middle of the room, complete with a luxurious amount of taps that undoubtedly offer an array of bubbles, salts and soaps.

“Oh, now you want to let me clean myself up?” Sebastian drawls. “After you’ve completely worn me out, hmm?”

“It’s more for me,” you giggle. “I can’t possibly sleep like this, but you’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”

As if Sebastian would ever pass up the chance to feel you up in the water.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #my fic #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian x reader #sebastian x mc #ominis gaunt #anne sallow #ominis gaunt x anne sallow #(it's subtle but it's there)#unbeta'd we die like men #how do we feel about “bash” as a nickname because it's my favorite 🥹

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purplelupins · 1 month

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Lamb

|Midnight Mass|

Father John Pruitt/Father Paul Hill x Fem!

Reader

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V

Word count: 13.5K

Summery: An entire life of being a good girl was a difficult cross to carry...especially in a tiny town with 127 residents on a good day. You kept the town fed and spirits as high as you could, but when a new face steps off the afternoon Breeze, things around you start to change; you don't even know you're in the eye of the storm.

Warnings: nsfw, reader is religious, religious symbolism, ideology, explanations and general conversations of religion, age gap (like this man is 80 technically and he watched reader grow up, and can remember reader as a little girl so if that’s creepy to you then go no further), stalking, manipulation, murder (hello have you seen the show?), drinking of blood, hunting of a person, grief, description of animal death, reader is described as blushing, character death, non consensual help showering, guilt and god maybe more but I think that’s it…this is not really a fix it fic

I invite you to listen to the playlist I made that goes along with the story.

Notes: **please read** This story is told partially from John Pruitt's pov and partially from readers, as such, when it's John's (Paul) it will refer to him as John, seeing as he had no need for the alias when it's from his pov. But when it's from readers, she will be referring to him as Paul Hill. Thank you!

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Crude oil is destructive to say the least. It is thick, and cloying; dense and dark and it holds no mercy for anything it touches. It kills and pollutes and fuses itself to anything it touches like some dependant parasitic bond. Not that it knows any better.

At one time, Crockett Island was a home off the Eastern coast to close to 500 residences. There was a harmony and calmness to that time; back when the island had summer visitors, and talks of an airport, and no one had to worry about how to pay for their groceries or if they could afford to pay for house repairs after a bad storm. Back when people were alive and helped eachother and laughed.

As the Breeze approached the marina of Crockett Island, there was a passenger who stood outside, leaning against the railing as he remembered Crockett when it was a secret haven. Then that horrible accident…Now, it was more akin to a shelter to the last 127 souls who remained. The brisk maritime wind tousled his black curled hair and flickered into his eyes.

Not that he minded too terribly- he didn't mind much of anything.

John Pruitt sucked in a full breath of the sea air- something he hadnt been able to do in decades when his old self's lungs had began to weaken. It nearly brought tears to his eyes to have been blessed with this second chance as he took in the mass of land before him. His home. His duty. John knew what he had to do. A needle of anxiety poked at him as he hoped his large cargo was still safe in the hold of the small ferry. Of course it was, but he couldnt help but worry until it was safely tucked away in the rectory.

His gift.

“I’m here to help…just here to help…” He repeated in his head.

The ferry lurched as it docked, though his sturdy frame barely flinched. John blinked, and adjusted his satchel one last time before coming to the off-boarding ramp. He slowly and shyly looked at the other passengers, and had to press his tongue to his teeth to keep from acknowledging a familiar face that stood only a few feet from him.

Riley Flynn.

It had been years since he had seen that face, and he felt a swell of happiness at the prospect of having another addition to his flock to receive this gift he so eagerly wished to bestow upon them. He could hardly wait to see each face and see them properly with his rejuvinated sight. See how they’ve grown and aged. He couldn’t wait to help them.

John stood off to the side after exiting the boat as he waited for his trunk.

"Whatcha waitin' for?" Came a gruff voice that John knew well.

He turned to see the island handyman, Sturge, and a small smile pulled at his cupids bow, "My trunk…should be the largest thing on there I’m afraid." John said.

Sturge huffed a little, but nodded, "Yeah its comin', you need a hand gettin' it to where your goin' we got a..." The man droned on about helping the man transport his precious cargo, but unfortunately John had inadvertently tuned him out after something had caught his eye; someone to be precise.

It was the shrill chime of a bicycle bell that had initially drawn his attention, though now he was entranced by the young woman riding the very bike that had made it.

The same wind that had combed through his own hair was now blowing yours back as you came to a stop by the small marine building for the fishermen; a large parcel was fastened to the back of your bike. In fact you were so engrossed in calling to the fishermen on the dock, while unfastening the goods from your bike that you didn’t notice the supposed stranger with his brown eyes glued to you. Staring at how the men approached you and tried to sneak a look at what you brought for them; of course he also was not blind to the evident leers you recieved from the same men. Men he knew were married and had children who he had baptised over the years.

Yet here he was practially on their same level as he watched you; transfixed by the way your hair would get caught in the breeze, and how your cheeks were a lovely pink from the cold. how you had a certain incandescence to you that brought up the spirits of the worn down fishermen.

In John's old age, he hadn't been able to see you properly since you were born; cataracts and dementia coupled with a few other ailments made you into a foggy memory for him, even now. But he knew you. He knew you had been a lovely little girl, and had decided to remain on the island and open a small bakery; John could recall Bev mentioning it a few times that you made food for the Crockpot luck each year. He remembered thanking you...not that he could properly appreciate your gift. You were a familiar face to St. Patrick’s, too.

It was only now that he could recall baptising you some twenty years ago when he had just broached 60 years...and he could see what a stellar young woman you had grown into.

Beautiful.

John had mumbled something to Sturge about only needing help to get out of the marina, and his hand gripped the top of his bag absentmindedly as his eyes flickered over you handing out pastries and sweet treats to the men.

You smiled so brightly that it truly must have been one of the many gifts you were given in life from God. Your calling to brighten up the cloudy days of Crockett island.

A patch of sunlight.

As John pulled the crate up the stairs to the rectory and pushed it across the floor, the solitude finally let him start to think. He knocked on the trunk twice, and slumped against the side as his mind began to wander. John Pruitt had been a priest for well over 60 years; he had seen and heard and dealt with just about every scandal, thought, sin, doubt and joy you could think of. Which was why he knew that there was a divine reason behind your delivery to the fishermen coinciding with his arrival.

It was no random coincidence that your face was among the first he saw upon returning. God’s plan was at work, and John felt anticipation fill him at the thought.

You were a good girl, just like your parents raised you to be, and it wasn’t as if you had a reason not to be. You had made a comfortable life after your family had either left or passed. Moving was expensive and you liked the quiet. It was a simple life and an easy one. Habitual and concise.

You went to church on Sundays and attended daily mass with Leeza. She loved your cinnamon rolls, and you liked to sneak a few into her bag. John remembered noticing that after daily mass one day. It made his chest swell with what he told himself was pride and admiration; not pining and adoration. It excited him to see someone so full of life, even if it was quietly. But that excitement was a double edged sword, after all it too made the Father dread it when he felt it in him. That excitement would settle low in his stomach and make him lose his train of thought.

A test. It was all a test.

The first time you saw the man was when you were leaving the dock that morning. It was strange to see a new face on Crockett, let alone a handsome one at that. You had wished you were heading in his direction so as to give him a welcome; he had such a large trunk with him that you wished you could have given him a hand too. But alas you were needed in the opposite way back down Main Street.

You petalled down the road, and dropped off a few more deliveries down the island to the elders who couldn’t venture too far. Your routine every other day from 10:30 in the morning for an hour.

John knew that too. He remembered feeling someone cycle past him with a soft greeting everytime he visited town after mass. Everything was starting to click back into place as his memory was replenished.

You finished your route, and hopped off your bike as you came to the little bundle of shops in town.

You knew Monsignor Pruitt was returning the next day, and you found yourself hopeful that he hadnt exhausted himself…you were also excited for Bev to calm down after weeks of her relentless, poor moods…and that was saying something for a woman who already lacked a pleasant temperament. The Monsignor always seemed to calm her…perhaps it was that she was able to abuse his position for herself-

You took a deep breath to calm yourself as your temper flared at the thought.

The following day, Saturday, was your day to yourself. Your little shop remained closed until Sunday afternoon, and your appreciation for the downtime was great. You took extra time for yourself, and sat down to read that book that you had promised to read last year; tried a new recipe for dinner and baked yourself a fresh batch of cookies. It wasn’t terribly interesting, but it was easy, and you liked that.

As you brushed your hair out for sleep, your thoughts wandered to that strange face you had seen exit the Breeze the day previous. You wondered if he was visiting someone or if he was some kind of inspector for the island…so little happened on Crockett that new faces were so obvious. You were surprised no one had mentioned him during your day at the shop.

You shrugged it off.

It wasn’t your business.

The rosary you clutched as you prayed beside your bed dug into your skin as you squeezed it unconsciously. Some nights your worship came with difficulty…you mind wandered and you wondered if you were doing the right thing…praying to the right god. Not that you would tell anyone that.

You didn’t sleep well that night. Somehow you repeatedly awoke every few hours to a deep sinking in your gut and prickle up your neck that kept you from returning to sleep. The restlessness had you surrendering just before dawn, and you wrapped a thick blanket around yourself as you sat in front of your window that just peaked over the water. Your bleary gaze was heavy, though you felt yourself sober when you swore you saw a dark figure move into the thick bushes. You jumped, and felt your blood freeze, but when you leaned a little closer to look out, there was nothing but the gentle sway of the trees in the wind. It was so easy to dismiss what you had seen as simply your tired mind playing tricks on you.

You rubbed the heels on your hands into your eyes, and sighed as you stood.

Coffee. A coffee was needed.

The dirt road was muddy with the approaching storm that would be on the horizon in a few days. You hoped this one wouldn’t be too damaging.

You followed behind Leeza with Dolly, and told them what you had baked that morning for your shop, while Erin and Wade listened; enjoying how the air smelled of petrichor and pine. There was a comfortable chatter amongst everyone as they grew happy to welcome their Monsignor back to Crockett.

You sat yourself in the middle, in the same seat you always took. After months of Father Pruitt being gone, you routine was beginning to settle again.

The small organ began playing, and you stood to start singing with everyone else, but then as the alter boys passed you and you watched them, there was an unfamiliar voice behind them. You slowed your singing as you were once again distracted; sure enough, there was a much younger man who passed down the aisle in a gold chasuble and his hands held in prayer.

That same man from the dock.

You felt confusion fill you, and evidently you weren’t the only one as the churchgoers exchanged confused glances with eachother. You looked over at Wade, hoping he might look a little less confused as the mayor, but he mirrored every other face.

Knowing you weren’t getting any answers from your peers, you directed your attention to the pulpit as the stranger walked up to it.

“Good morning,” the man began, “I know I’m not who you expected to see this morning. I’m Father Paul Hill, and I was sent by the diocese to fill in for Monsignor Pruitt. Just know that I’m only here to help, and I look forward to meeting you all.”

You blinked in surprise at his explanation, thought you supposed it wasn’t entirely strange- just unexpected. Had something happened? You remembered how so many islanders had advised the Father not to make the journey, and now you were wondering if you all should have insisted harder.

The man looked a little nervous, but hopeful as he looked around to his new flock. But as his gaze passed over yours, you noted it paused for a moment. You smiled a little a him in hopes that it might make him feel a little welcome, and you briefly wondered if he recognized you from the marina.

There was a lilt to his strong, low voice that made you listen. He was compelling and direct; certainly not what you were used to with Monsignor Pruitt. He had always been a wonderful preacher, but for the last decade, he had grown slow and drawling.

You remembered your mother saying something about “It’s not about the sermon or who’s giving it, it’s just about being reminded of god and our mortality in this life.” And while you had always agreed with the sentiment, there was something about being invigorated while at church that was making your fingertips tingle.

You could already tell that Father Hill was appreciated amongst the churchgoers. There was a softness in their weathered faces as he spoke, like he was indeed connecting them to God.

As everyone filed in for the sacrament, you fell in line and felt your palms start to sweat. A part of you was thankful that Bev was there to provide the wine and your…replacement; you didn’t want to have to stop the church proceedings just to explain why you couldn’t drink the wine.

The discovery of your ethanol allergy had come as a distressful lesson when you had first drank the sacrament as a child. You still remembered what a fuss everyone made and how you had been rushed to Dr.Gunning who had only graduated from medical school recently. From then on your Monsignor had been very understanding and blessed your separate cup of grape juice every mass from then on.

When you accepted the wafer, and accepted the smaller cup from Bev, you noted in the back of your mind that the priest before you looked a little shaken as you drank. You paid it no mind- he was new and he likely had his quirks.

But it was no quirk. The Father felt his shoulders sink, and blood drain from his face as he watched Bev hand you that cup. He felt his idiocy fill him, then the subsequent dread and horror that followed his realisation.

You couldn’t drink the communion wine.

You never had.

A flash of the first day you tried it made his head hurt as he recalled how distraught your mother was upon learning what had happened. He tried to push the worried expression on his young face away but he was sure it was now more of a grimace.

You couldn’t accept the gift.

Panic clouded Johns mind as he continued to give the sacrament to each of the islanders. The devil on his shoulder proposed that it simply wasn’t your fate to be given the gift. But John had learned to ignore that horned heathen well, and he knew he must do something to guide you with the rest of his flock.

No lamb left behind.

As you filed out to leave, you walked behind Annie Flynn and her son Riley.

He had left years ago when you were still in your mid teens, and he didn’t exactly leave a lasting impression on a teenager. They stopped for a moment to speak with the new father, and while you wanted to say hello to the pastor, you hated to linger and get in people’s way; you knew you would see the Father again, and so you went to skirt around Annie, but as fate would have it, their conversation ended quickly, and the older woman took you by the arm as her son left.

“This is the beating heart of Crockett herself!” She beamed at you while you stood there suddenly locked in conversation with the young priest.

Annie had always appreciated your positive attitude and good nature. You found yourself always trying to cheer her up on her worst days while she worried herself sick about her husband and her son on the mainland. She was a mother through and through, and you often held her as a place-holder for your own flesh and blood since you saw your family only a couple times a year since they moved away.

And Annie seemed content with that. She had always wanted a daughter. The way she gushed about you then to the Father and introduced you had you trying to brush off the praise with a few failed “Oh no I-“ and “I’m not-“ and so forth. Your flushed cheeks had another agenda entirely however when you finally looked up at the Fathers gaze.

It was those soft brown eyes of his that struck you first. So focused and yet so…sad. Like he might cry at any moment. You wondered if his eyes stung.

He was handsome in a weathered, timid sort of way; couldn’t have been more than mid forties. He looked as if he had seen years of life beyond his age. Perhaps years of absolving sins had taken a toll.

“She is our baker here on Crockett…helps liven up the plain variety of food we have.” She half joked, thought it was mostly truth. Crockett was a place of bread and butter- basics. So a treat of some kind was greatly appreciated, and you were happy to deliver just that.

“Ah yes…the Monsignor mentioned his love for your pastries.” He smiled genuinely and nodded as if recalling being told, “I’ll be sure to stop by.”

There was a boyishness to him that endearing enough to settle your nerves.

Your eyes widened in surprise, “He did?” You asked.

You were certain Pruitt wouldn’t be able to recall something so insignificant in his declining health and old age. It had only been a few years that you had been running the shop, and you knew he hadn’t been fully coherent long before that. A poetic connection between him and Crockett Island you supposed.

Father Paul seemed delighted by your shock though, and the crows feet around his eyes deepened, “Yes he was quite adamant I assure you. I believe you’re also a regular face I will be seeing and that it may just be you and Leeza at times.” He added.

You clasped your hands in front of you to keep from fidgeting.

“I- well I try to be.” You looked away timidly, and shuffled your feet as Annie smiled at you. You weren’t used to someone being so passionate about small things- let alone a man.

“Oh she’s just modest.” The older woman said.

Father Paul chuckled, “Modesty is a virtue. Now, I noticed you weren’t able to drink the sacramental wine, is there something I should know?” He seemed so curious and invested.

You nodded, “I’m afraid I’m allergic to something in wine- ethanol. I’ve always been given plain grape juice instead…the Monsignor was always kind enough to have it ready. I hope that won’t be a problem-“

Father Paul shook his head as he rushed to put your mind at ease.

“-no no not- not in the least I assure you. Your presence and dedication is more than enough…you still receive the lords blessing even if it is from a sweeter drink.” He mused.

“Thank you, Father.” You replied and looked down again so as to hide the warming of your cheeks again.

Annie smiled and hugged you, “Well then, not to cut this short, Father but I’m starting my shift in a half hour. I’ll see you then?” She asked you.

You nodded, “Sure will. I’ll make us some coffee. I’m sure the sheriff could use some too.” You called after her as she walked away and bid the father farewell. Leaving the two of you to stand together. You turned back to Father Hill as he towered over you, and fought to find something to say as your nerves kicked in. You were usually good at finding conversation but you felt like you were a kid being forced to talk to some family member your mom insisted you knew.

You took a deep breath. “It was-“

“I hope-“

You both spoke over each other, and both looked at one another apologetically. You shook your head and smiled a little to ease his embarrassment, “Please you first, Father Hill.”

He looked at you for a moment for confirmation to ensure that he wasn’t being rude then he began again, “I was only going to say that I hope to see you here again…it’s enlightening to see a youthful face in a church.” He grinned- a curl of his dark hair falling over his forehead as he looked down at you.

You returned his grin, though yours was a little forced in comparison.

Attending church was a routine ingrained in you since childhood, and now it was just something expected of you. You knew the day you didn’t attend would make the talk of the town and you were never in the mood for Beverly to come knocking on your door to berate you.

You could still remember a couple years ago when you were sick and she brought you a batch of soup for you to help…the offer had been kind enough, but the soup itself had made you want to curl into a ball and chew on a dead seagull.

“I assure you.” You echoed his words from earlier, and he smiled. “I’ll see you soon. Enjoy the rest of your day, Father.” You said, and slowly stepped past him.

He turned his body to follow you. John told himself it was manners to speak to someone with your whole attention, and while that was true, he simply needed one last proper look at you before you left.

“Likewise, y/n.” He called to you as you walked down the steps. Out of your peripheral, you could see Bev still bending by the ear of one of the community members, and you made quick work of sending her a tight smile then hurrying along the path to the road. She returned the forced expression; not that she knew you forced it. Practice makes perfect.

The hairs on the back of your neck began to stand on end as you descended the hill from St. Patrick’s. There was something in the back of your mind that told you not to look behind you, but against your better judgement, you did just that. A pair of soft brown eyes were trained on you as you walked.

The Father’s stare startled you and made your stride stutter.

He was intense and direct. He wasn’t like most of the islanders, and he made you uneasy somehow, but regardless, you cast him a friendly wave, and continued on your way- but that same prickle on the back of your neck simply wouldn’t let go.

John watched you go until your head disappeared down onto the main road and out of sight. He felt his nerves pick up as he said his last goodbyes and returned inside the church. He sat amongst the pews and stared up at the four walls around him. The weight of the gift he was tasked to reveal was growing heavy. He wished so badly to bestow this marvel to every dedicated church goer, and he would.

To every single one except you.

Why you?

Certainly you were in some way special; that had been revealed to him when it had been your face for him to first see upon returning.

Fate.

But if that were the case then surely your way to salvation should be easier…yet here you were unable to accept it; all because of an allergy.

John sighed as he made up his mind to proceed as he did with the rest of his flock. He hoped you wouldn’t taste the blood in your juice tomorrow- if you did he would simply have to find another way for you to accept it.

No lamb left behind.

The walk into town that usually brought you so much peace now came with an impending sense of foreboding. You knew that nasty storm was nearly at your doors, but storms had never bothered you too much. No, there was something in the air that made you all too aware of your heartbeat, and your breath and how your skin felt. You barely paid attention to anything around you as your leisurely pace unconsciously changed into one of hurry.

It wasn’t until you had just passed by the general store, and didn’t respond to Hassan’s greeting that you snapped out of your trance.

“Y/n? Y/n you alright?” He called to you as you strode right past him.

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

“Sh-sheriff, I’m so sorry…” you stopped in your tracks and furrowed your brow as you fought to find an answer for your odd attitude, “I’m…I think I’m just a little out of it today.” You laughed.

The Sheriff glanced you over for a moment, then nodded slowly. “There’s a fresh pot inside.” He tipped his cup filled with black coffee to you. He was a nice man. Exhausted…mistreated, but caring.

You smiled and nodded, “I’ll come by in a few minutes. Thank you.” You hoped your smile would reassure him. You didn’t need to worry an already stressed father and someone you would consider a friend. An awkward older friend who needed a break but a friend nonetheless. “Want an eclair? Got a few extra that I made this morning.” You asked.

He shook his head gently, “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to give me my own form of insulation for winter.”

You gasped in faux shock, and shook your head, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The pebbles and dirt crunched under your boots as you stepped up to the little entrance of your bakery beside the general store. As soon as you stepped inside, you suddenly felt a little safer…at ease. As if you had anything to be afraid of.

You suddenly felt very silly.

Ridiculous.

There had only been one change that day, and that was the charismatic Father Paul Hill.

Had you become so sheltered on that little island that you were afraid of a stranger coming into your community? Surely not.

No. You hadn’t felt fear in the man’s presence so who would you feel it now?

Ridiculous.

Stop it.

You closed your eyes and did your best to clear your mind of any ominous thought and any thought about the new Father.

Out of sight. Out of mind. Not your business.

You strode to the back of the shop and prepared your morning deliveries; it was always the same. It was easy. And you knew it was appreciated. Feeling important was a virtue in a small community that was run into the ground.

Making people feel cared for made you happy.

The day came and went just as it always did, but you couldn’t help but feel like the island had turned a little off its axis. Like something had just nudged it into a slight other direction. Your suspicions were only enforced and justified when almost every one of your regulars mentioned the new pastor to you as they selected their desired sweet or savoury treat from your display case.

“Such a striking young man.”

“Too modern.”

“Nothing like our dear Monsignor…but I can’t say I’ve stayed so engaged during a homily in years.”

“How long do you think he’ll stay?”

“Where do you think he came from?”

And so on.

You had hoped any mention of the man would remain in your own thoughts, but it was as if he had swept through the town like a stiff winter breeze.

By the time you sold your last cheese bun and lemon tart, and closed up shop, there was a very real wind that surged right down Main Street. The cool air pricked right through your thick tights under your skirt and made you made a mental note to dig out some warmer ones.

That storm was due that evening. It had been the talk of the town all day, right after the endless conversations of the invigorating preacher. Once you had gotten home, you felt it start to push up against your boarded windows. The wind howled, and the lights flickered as the sky darkened outside; you took that as a sure sign to light a few candles.

There was something ethereal in the light from a candle. So beautiful. If you caught the flames out of the corner of your eyes, sometimes it looked like they had little halos.

You smiled softly at the thought.

You never stayed up late on storm nights. In fact you slept earlier than usual. You knelt beside your bed and clasped your hands in prayer.

“Father, as I lie down for sleep tonight, wash over me with the warmth of Your love. In Your mercy, soothe my pain, whether in my body-“ you paused your recitation when that familiar prickle began its way up the back of your neck like it had for the past two days. You listened intently, but there was nothing but the wind.

“-mind or soul. Grant me a restful night of sleep so that when I awake, I'm strengthened to do Your will. Amen.” You decided against thinking too much of the unease, and settled under your blankets and closed your eyes.

You didn’t dream that night. In fact it felt as if you had merely shut your eyes for a moment before you were opening them again at the sound of your alarm.

The storm had blown itself out by the time you took your wooden shutters off your windows. There was a sliver of light coming over the horizon as you peered out at the water. You stared at it intently, and clenched your hand into an absentminded fist.

You tried the lightswitch in your kitchen, and praised the lord that it worked. You wondered if Sturge had been up even earlier than you to fix the power lines.

The outside of your house was a mess complete with a crab trap hanging off your fence. Nets, ropes, bushes, clothes, coolers, toys riddled the streets as you walked in the dim light to your shop. But then after only a few minutes, your nose picked up a smell. You were used to the strong smell of the ocean, especially after the storms, but this was different. You started towards the beach, and nearly gagged when you got closer. You had to cover your mouth once you stood on the sand.

From left to right, the beach was littered with the corpses of cats. You knew there were quite a lot on the island, and had seen the odd dead feline, but this was as if something had wiped out every cat and dumped them by the shore.

Anxiety filled you as you stared.

“Oh my-…”

You spun around to see Hassan standing beside you; uniform half buttoned and a bag over his shoulder that you knew had his lunch. The two of you exchanged looks of distress, and you visibly started to shake the longer you looked.

“What…what would…Hassan what-…” you looked up at the man, and he only shook his head. At a loss for words.

“Cmon. I’ll walk you in. Gotta…gotta call the mayor.” He wrapped an arm around your back to direct you away from the mess, “We’ll take care of it.”

You nodded and followed his lead away from the beach and into town, but you found yourself remembering that prickle up the back of your neck that night, and wondered if it had had anything to do with the slaughter. Was there some predator that had somehow made it onto the island without anyone knowing? Was someone going around killing cats? Had the solitude of Crockett Island finally made someone snap and rip every feline to shreds?

The call of your name cut through your thoughts.

You looked up and saw that you were ex standing outside your shop, and the poor man who had walked you there looked even more distressed at your quietness.

“Thank you…thanks Hassan…I’ll…let- let me know if you find anything out.” You said quietly but gave him a small smile of reassurance.

“I will. Take care okay?” He said, and you nodded, but he was already disappearing up the steps into the general store.

You nodded to yourself, and unlocked your shop and stood inside.

Then you took a deep breath.

And got to work.

By the time 8:30 came around, your nerves had calmed, and your nose was filled with a far more pleasant smell of muffins, and tarts and sourdough.

You brushed off your hands, and bundled up the deliveries for that day, then quickly locked the shop up and left for mass. As you walked, you found yourself ever so slightly reluctant. Nervous like your first day of school.

It wasn’t until you heard the sound of Leeza and Annie behind you that you snapped out of a daze that had settled over you.

“Good morning, dear!” Annie called to you as you stopped and waited for them.

“Morning. You all survived the storm just fine?” You asked politely and began walking with them.

“Oh we were fine. Just a breeze.” Annie said good-naturedly, “Sure was strange what with all those cats this morning though hey? Heard Dolly saying they’re still trying to work out what happened.” She said a little hushed.

You nodded, “I know…the Sheriff and I found them this morning…scared me half to death…”

“They’ll figure it out I’m sure.” Annie dismissed the conversation; you could tell she was worried. She always worried.

Not wanting that to be the last conversational subject between your little group, you changed the subject.

“Anything exciting happening at school today?” You asked Leeza.

She shook her head, “Nah…but I think we’re starting on this project that I’m excited about…” the girl began on a tangent regarding her science project. It was nice to listen to someone prattle on about something that would be insignificant in a few years…it was somehow refreshing. Somehow you felt like an older sister to Leeza, and having her confide in you so honestly about mundane things made your heart swell.

The three of you entered the church, and just as always, you sat in your usual spot in the middle, across from Leeza and Annie. And you waited.

“Our processional hymn this morning is number 400 in the red hymnal. “Holy, Holy, Holy.” Please rise. “ came the voice of Father Hill from the door of the church.

A shiver made you twitch, and you blamed a draft in the church. You stood just as you always did; not needing the hymnbook but still holding it out of habit.

You sang, and kept your eyes trained on the text as the Father passed, his hands pressed in prayer as he walked up to the pulpit and continued his routine. You could feel the heavy presence of Bev Keene permeating the air, and you subconsciously ground your teeth. You knew if she had her heart in the right place, she could be a magnetic, beloved member of any community.

But sadly she didn’t have a heart to have it in the right place to begin with. Soot and malice was what sat beneath that gold cross she wore.

“Before he was given up to death, a death he freely accepted, he took bread and gave you thanks…”

Your eyes glazed over at you listened to that voice of his. Not that you weren’t hearing his words, or the message behind them; you were paying attention. But just like being read a story by your mother at bedtime versus a babysitter you had only just met, there was a certain comfort to be found in the former. Yet somehow, where Father Hill ought to have been less comforting, he brought great solace to his homily. It felt as if he was the one you were so used to listening to. Somehow he had eased himself into the Monsignor’s shoes seamlessly and had begun to preach his own gospel that melded with the tone you had become accustomed to since childhood and lulled you into a safe haven of worship.

“…He broke the bread, gave it to his disciples, and said…”

There was an effortlessness in his sermon. You wondered if he had started preaching very young.

With only 4 islanders in the church to worship, Father Hill stepped down from the pulpit and began offering the Body and blood of Christ to each. He saved you for last, you noticed, and for good reason as he retrieved your smaller cup and returned to you. You cupped your hands in front of you, and waited dutifully.

“Body of Christ, y/n.” Came that gentle voice of his like he cared deeply that you accept the blessing.

His long fingers graced the pads of yours so slightly as he placed the wafer on your fingers, and you failed to hide the hitch of your breath as you murmured “Amen.”

Then as he held your small cup for you to drink from, you failed to see how his gaze caught the sight of your pink tongue peaking out just over your teeth as you went to drink. John didn’t know why he noticed that; he supposed he noticed many small details now. Seeing your tongue now must have reminded him of any smaller animal with its mouth open- a small rabbit, a mouse, a cat, a-

A lamb.

The juice tasted strange that morning and somehow thicker than usual. You wondered if it was just in your head after being so shaken from the cats…

Annie took it upon herself to walk Leeza to school that morning, which left you to exit the church alone. On a day like that with the sun shining, you found coming out of the house of God almost ethereal. The light poured in through the single-paned windows and illuminated the dust particles that drifted so gently.

Once you stepped outside, the fresh air filled your lungs and you let yourself smile easily up at Father Paul as he stood patiently.

“Good morning, Father Hill.” You said, craning your neck to look up at the man.

“The beating heart herself!” He smiled, reiterating Annie’s analogy of you.

A good memory.

And a good sense of humour.

The warming of your cheeks was obvious , and John felt a little tug in his chest at the sight of it. Little flower pedals colouring your cheeks.

“She- I’m…”you tried to find a way to humble the dramatic compliment, but failed, “I hope you made it through the storm alright, Father. One hell of a welcome.” You said, trying to redirect the conversation, and to your mercy, Father Hill went along with it.

He nodded.

“It was quite nice actually. Being plunged into darkness almost feels like a renewal of some kind.” He said thoughtfully as his mouth seemed to threaten to tug into a smile.

“Quite sobering.” You agreed, “I’m glad it didn’t chase you off. Don’t know how many times I’ve seen someone buy a summer home here then flee the moment they have to endure a storm.” It was true. A little funny too.

The Father chuckled and nodded, “A fearsome thing to behold, but still a reminder of our creator…the power or lord holds, whipping storms against our rocks and shores just to knock on our doors and say hello. Almost reassuring.” He rambled a little.

You tilted your head, “That’s a very thoughtful way to look at it. Certainly more poetic than what you’ll hear from most of the locals.”

“And what would they say?” He shot back playfully.

You breathed out a laugh.

“One too many curse words for my liking, Father. And a couple confusing analogies.” You said.

Father Hill chuckled and somehow you half expected him to pat your head and tell you to run along. The Monsignor used to when you were a child so it wouldn’t be entirely foreign.

“Well we all have our ways of dealing with hardship-“

“Ah you’re still here, y/n!”

During your conversation you hadn’t noticed how the two of you had come to shift closer to one another; but when that cutting voice of Bev Keen startled you, you took an instinctive step away from the man with whom you had been speaking.

You forced a polite smile, “I am. Just asking how Father Paul made it through the storm-“

“The rectory has always been just fine.” She shot at you with a tight smile as if trying to end your time there quickly.

John could see your lips pull down so slightly into a tiny frown when Bev cut you off; he felt a flicker of irritation. Odd.

You recovered, acting like she didn’t mean any harm. “I’m sure it has. But just because a place is safe doesn’t remove fear. The Father here seemed to have handled it just fine though like you said… “In the storms, winds and waves, He whispers “fearnot” for I am with you.”.” You smiled up at the Father, and he returned it gently.

“Psalm 107:29…truer words could not exist for Crockett Island.” Father Paul said fondly to you; he had a way of speaking to those around him like there was a bubble around the two of you as you conversed. Like nothing else could take his attention from you.

You took in a breath and clasped your hands in front of you when you could feel the gaze of Bev scorching you, “Well thank you for a lovely service today Father, Bev…always a pleasure.” You said to both, but only made it several steps before Father Paul called after you.

“You’re always welcome here.” He said you name so gently. You noticed too that his tone was almost pleading…perhaps encouraging. Did he think you would stop your routine one day?

“I appreciate that Father Hill!” You smiled and waved as you turned to continue on your way; Paul’s lingering stare and Bevs look of distain following you as you went.

Your ear ached as a pull in you almost forced you to turn around and look back at St. Patrick’s again…but you didn’t. Somehow you felt it was in poor taste to do so. You had been startled by being watched once, and you were certain your nerves would not benefit from it again.

Instead, you hurried along, and made it down to the bakery quickly. You waved at a few locals who entered the general store and unlocked your door to grab your deliveries for that day. You always felt a pang of sadness when you looked at your list of houses and saw old customers crossed off; having passed or moved, but you supposed you ought to feel joyous for those who remained.

One by one you completed your deliveries. There were only 15 houses to visit, give or take a few from day to day. You treasured those houses.

You peddled up to one of the houses you frequented, and grabbed the order you needed. You almost bounced up the steps and knocked. It didn’t take long before the door was opening after the voice inside called that they were coming.

You were then met with a familiar face.

“Good to see you. Morning going alright?” Sarah Gunning was always a little direct, but kind. You supposed a good doctor ought to be both.

You nodded as you handed her the two loaves of bread and bundle of fruit cakes. “Not too bad…was a little shaken by the…uh…the cats this morning but nothing a sunny day like today can’t fix!” You assured her. “How’s your mother?”

Sarah nodded, “I heard…smelled it too. She’s alright, thank you y/n.” She took the package from you and gave you a tight smile.

“Good…see you soon.” You chirped, and began backing down the steps.

You turned around and strode out the front yard, but sighed when you noticed one of the straps that kept your goods in place at the back of your bike was loose. You knelt down and retied it. You supposed everything on this island was falling apart just a little.

When you straightened, however, you gasped and nearly toppled over. “F-Father Hill! I’m so sorry-“

The man stepped back a little.

“Im sorry I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” He put his hand up to show he meant no harm, face apologetic.

“No…no that was on me, I’ve been a little in my head lately.” You said, having a hard time meeting his gaze.

“We all can be a little distracted.” He said. A slightly awkward silence fell between you, but it was he who broke it. “You know the Gunnings well?” He asked, and nodded to the house behind you.

You followed his gaze and nodded, “Not terribly, but I remember seeing Mrs. Gunning in church when I was a kid…I just deliver to them now. Mrs.Gunning’s health hasn’t been the best for years and her daughter Sarah cares for her…I just try to help out where I can.” You smiled.

There was something nagging at you though. Something odd. Of course you hadn’t fully realized that this stranger already knew who lived there; you were so used to everyone knowing everyone.

You did notice how the man before you shifted when you mentioned Sarah’s mother. He seemed almost a little more compelled to listen.

“That- that’s kind of you.” He stumbled a little over his words, “Giving to those in need that’s very selfless…a trait that can be hard to come by though we all possess it.” Father Hill forced a smile that crinkled the sides of his eyes.

“We all have traits in us that we can chose to embrace or not. Good and bad, Father.”

His smile turned a little more genuine then. “Ah yes, the never ending duality of man.”

“ “Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that their deeds will be exposed.” John 3:20.” You quoted a little absentmindedly as you saw Beverly pass by on the main road. The distraction kept you from seeing how the man towering over you had his eyes go wide, and looked away for a moment.

You both stood there for a moment, then you ducked your head a little and pulled your bike towards yourself. “Well Father, I’ll leave you to it.”

Father Hill nodded, and pursed his lips ever so slightly, “Good to see you…”

You slowly walked past him and back to the road, but stopped when he muttered something that you wondered if he meant for you to hear.

“Thank you.” He said.

You looked back at him, brows pitched in confusion.

“For…taking- taking care of everyone.” He ended his sentence a little weakly, and you tilted your head a little to the side. An odd man.

“It’s my pleasure.” You decided on. It seemed to be what Father Hill wanted or needed to hear, and you both parted ways.

You paused at Main Street, and turned to look up at the Father as he ascended the stairs to the Gunning house. This time, it was his turn to glance back at you as you watched him. You waved and smiled, and didn’t wait for his response before you were pedalling away.

John had been standing just out of view of Sarah when he had said goodbye to Leeza, and saw you knock on Mildred’s front door. He stayed there, enjoying how much life you held inside you. Youthful and magnetic. Of course the ease in staring at you had nothing to do with the fact that your dress swayed around your legs and picked up so slightly in the wind.

He watched how startled you were by him when he approached you…so cautious yet so trusting. A lamb weary of wolves just looking for her Shepard.

I will be your Shepard sweet lamb…let me. Bend for me…for God.

Then that quote…oh you were no mere lost soul. No you were thoughtful. John felt excitement fill him at the thought of how you would benefit from his gift. He would be lying if he said you saying his true name didn’t startle him. A coincidence, of course.

Then when he turned back and saw you already watching him. Then that peak of your thigh when you hopped onto your bike…John was…

John was distracted.

An ideal lamb to guide yet so concerning. Not a blind lamb…no you were good. You were caring, and strong. Hopeful…hopeful like a man overboard who knew he had to weather swell after swell of water but kept treading water because he knew he was strong enough despite his muscles wanting to give out.

Instead of staying afloat like that man, John lost his breath.

Then he gasped in the salty sea water and breathed you in. Gulped you down his throat like a greedy boy to nourish his body and fill his lungs.

The next morning was thankfully an uneventful one.

Hassan and Wade had managed to get the dead cats cleaned up by the evening of the day before, and you weren’t sure when the last time was that you were so happy to have nothing happen.

Until that evening.

You were fairly proud of your abilities to make delicious confectioneries for Crockett island, and as you stared down your journal of recipes that sat in your lap, you pondered which to chose for the approaching Crock-potluck. You knew there would be a great deal of food already there, but you also knew that something freshly made for desert changed an atmosphere fast.

You were just looking through your various cookie and sweet bread recipes when a knock on your door made you jump. It was rare that you had visitors, especially at this hour. Certainly Erin had come by numerous times for slow walks around the island in the evening from time to time, and then Annie sometimes ran down to your house if she needed an ingredient…but somehow you felt that the person knocking was neither.

It was soft and timid.

You uncurled yourself from your nest of blankets on the couch, and strode to your door, then opened it with a pleasant smile on your face. It faltered only a little once you saw who was standing there.

“I- I uh…I’m sorry for this intrusion so late but I have a favour to ask of you if I may.” Came that low rumble of the man’s voice as he stood in the dim light of your porch.

You blinked, “What can I do for you Father?”

Father Hill shifted a little- an awkward smile on his face as he looked to the side as he stalled.

“This is my first uh- Crockett Po- crock-“ he stumbled a little and you smiled.

“Crock-potluck.” You corrected him.

He laughed a little, “Yes. And I wanted to have something to bring. Something my mother ingrained in me as a boy and well I was hoping if…if you could lend a helping hand so to speak.”

You bit at your cheek to keep from smiling too wide at his request. Here was this man likely twice your age, taller than most trees, fumbling with his words when he preached for a living. He was endearing.

“Well Father…it is getting late.” You started, and his face instantly turned to that of a kicked puppy.

His eyes softened, and the corners of his mouth tugged down so slightly.

“Oh- of- of course how silly-“

“-and I was going to make something for the potluck anyways…so having an extra pair of hands would be a godsend.” You finished.

John chuckled and stared you in the eye when your nose scrunched up so slightly at your tease.

Funny girl.

“Come in, please…make yourself at home.” You ushered him in. You were thankful that Bev didn’t live near you lest she see her dear Father Hill enter the home of a young woman alone.

Of course, John knew that you were indeed preparing to make something. Just like most islanders, you kept your drapes open even at night, and while he had just meant to take an evening stroll and check in on you- his dear lamb- John had found himself standing just outside your window watching you for well past a half hour. You flicked through that book of yours that John remembered seeing on your counter just two days ago when you had tested a recipe from it. You hadn’t seen him that night either. So domestic and sweet in your own space…

It was only when he snapped out of his trance-like state that he felt a little perverse in his current situation and told himself that he must have a reason for being there so long.

Thus the need to make something for the potluck.

John Pruitt had never made something for the potluck.

But he would not just leave your house that night after watching you through your window.

No. No he had a purpose for being there.

Of course he did. Why else would God have guided him there on his walk?

It wasn’t as if he was subconsciously drawn to your little home.

A moth to a flame.

You watched the older man remove his boots, and unzip his grey hoodie, and remove it to fold it neatly onto your couch. He looked so domestic and human.

“We’re going to make a cult classic, Father…I hope that’s alright. Safer for large numbers.” You explained as you flipped to your browned butter chocolate chip recipe. You slowly walked into your kitchen as you reviewed what you needed, and Father Hill trailed after you.

“This might take a couple hour- oh!” You started to say, but jumped when you turned around and bumped right into his chest.

He chuckled, “I think I might need a bell on me…I’m afraid I have a talent for startling people lately.”

You waved it off, “It’s just me…I’m just- I…” you sighed and looked up at the man as he waited patiently for your explanation, “Can I…can I be completely honest with you, Father Hill?” You asked a little timidly.

He nodded- open and calm, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You sucked in a breath, “You’re…well you’re a new presence here on the island…a welcomed one! But because you’re new…you startle a lot of us because we’re simply not…used to you. We’ll get there but in the time being…I think that’s why. I’m- we…we’re glad you’re here.” You stumbled and then when he smiled softly at you you suddenly worried that you had offended him, “I’m…I’m sorry I don’t think that came out right…”

“No no please…it makes perfect sense given how isolated the island is…I take no offence.” He said good-naturedly and waved his hand.

You sighed, and looked down, “Alright well…let’s get started. You might want to roll your sleeves up though it can get messy, Father.” You perked up as you changed the subject, and began to walk to your counter where you had already taken out a mixing bowl and, whisk and measuring cup.

“I am at your disposal, young lady.” Father Paul came to brace himself against the counter edge beside you, looking down at you thoughtfully.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, but kept your head down enough for him to not see, “Can you get me the butter from the fridge? Should be on the door.” You asked, and pulled out a small saucepan.

He nodded, and retrieved the butter for you. As he looked for it, you glanced over at him, and found your eyes drawn to his exposed forearms from him rolling up his sleeves. You looked away almost instantly, embarrassed for having been looking at your priest like that.

“You know this is the first time I’ve done this. Gotta admit it’s a bit exciting.” He said as he popped the butter beside you on the counter proudly.

“Baking is always fun…especially when things turn out yummy.” You smiled and put two large cups of butter in the heated pan. It started to sizzle. “We brown the butter to give the cookies a sort of nutty flavour…makes it a little tastier even if they’re just chocolate chip cookies.” You explained. He watched over your shoulder, enrapt.

“Did you always want to do this?” He asked you.

You blinked, “The- the cookies-?”

“No.” He laughed, “No, being a baker.”

“Oh. Well…not exactly. I grew up here and when you grow up in Crockett you have a lot of time to think…sometimes too much. I guess I knew I would end up doing something here and when I got older I got into baking and in my spare time I got really good at it…took years but before I knew it I was graduating and had a pretty fortuitous hobby. It was actually Dr. Gunning who suggested it.”

“Sarah?” Came his voice behind you.

“Yeah, Sarah was in the general store when I was there to get some milk and we got to talking…I had made her mom a few loaves of bread that she used to like and Sarah said I should make something out of my skill. And here I am!” You laughed, and stirred the butter as it browned and thinned.

“Wonderful…” he said softly.

You nodded, “She’s a nice lady. You’ll get used to her- just a little direct. Think it comes with being a doctor.” There was a moment of silence between you; only filled with the bubbling of the butter, “Alright, can you go into the freezer and pull out the flour, and measure out 3 cups of it into the bowl there?” You asked the man behind you.

“I certainly can.” He confirmed.

“Oh! Can you get 4 eggs as well?” You asked quickly.

He hummed and looked through your fridge for what he needed, and placed everything by the bowl. The counter was so much lower for him that he almost had to hunker over with his height to work.

He looked so…normal. It was sweet. A little odd to see your pastor baking with you but it was nice. Somehow it made him feel more human than just a man who absolved your sins and blessed you every morning.

The two of you worked together, and you came to find that Father Hill was eager to learn. He was methodical and took his time to do things right. Listened. Before you knew it there was a massive bowl of cookie dough on the counter and your oven was full of baking sheets.

“Each sheet should only take about 15 minutes so this shouldn’t take more than another hour.” You said, “If- if you need to take off I can finish-“

“A good man does not abandon his task, not to worry.” His tone was stern but he was smiling. You returned it.

“Well…” you breathed as you looked around for something to do, “I can put some music on if you like? You’re welcome to look around.”

He nodded, and you went to find something to listen to, “This used to be my family’s house. I’m afraid I only have their old records…Hope that’s okay?”

“More than.” He called out to you as you went into the living room.

You flipped through a few envelopes, and settled on one from Jeff Buckley. It was mostly slow, and you could still talk if you wanted to. You set it up, and as the needle sat atop the vinyl, a calm song began.

“Who’s this little ray of sunshine?”

You turned and followed Father Paul’s voice. He was standing in front of a few picture frames hung on the wall that you kept from when your family lived there.

“That was me.” You laughed, “That was right before Easter I think…I was 5.” You said thoughtfully.

“You looked happy.” He smiled.

I was. You thought.

“I loved Easter. Mostly for the chocolate…” you both chuckled a little, “But…now it’s just the time of year that I like. Spring. Revival…blossoming of plants, birds chirping…everything just seems so much more alive. The world starts to hum with God’s greatness during Easter, I think.” You thought aloud, then looked up at Father Hill once you ended your musings.

He was already watching you; hanging onto every word.

He remembered how much you enjoyed Easter. “One more chocolate, Monsignor? Pleeease?” He could still hear that little voice.

“What do you think, Father?” You asked him.

“I have to agree.” He hummed. You noticed that his eyes were almost glassy-that same teary look you had noticed when you first met him. Like he may weep.

“I think Monsignor Pruitt was partial t-

DING!

You both jumped apart and looked behind you at the sound of your timer sounding.

Had it been 15 minutes already?

You both returned to the kitchen and you began removing the sheets of golden treats. “If you can put them on the cooling rack while I take them out that’ll help a lot, Father.” You smiled.

“They turned out so nicely.” He mused as he followed your orders, “I supposed I shouldn’t have expected anything less from you.”

You laughed a little, “It’s just trial and error until you figure out your best method.”

Modest girl.

John grinned at you from the corner of his eye while you placed the last hot sheet on the counter.

The two of you continued the routine until the last round was in the oven, and you were starting to feel more at ease with the man. Almost playful. He certainly was a young priest, and every bit a red blooded man; his humour was dry, and he smiled easily. His laugh was infectious, though you could tell he didn’t do it often. You supposed the church wasn’t exactly a place rich with humour.

The record had nearly finished after almost an hour of listening, and the two of you were leaning against the kitchen counter listening. You swayed gently to the music, but then perked up when a favourite of yours began to play.

“I love this song…” you muttered under your breath and turned your head in the direction of the living room.

John looked down at you in recognition of what you had said, but in the low light of your kitchen, and the softness in your face, he couldn’t help but be reminded of being young. Not just himself but the island. Back when the people who were not partners used to be children he had baptized. Back when there were dances in the old town hall that had since burned down decades ago.

You reminded him of…a better time.

An easier time.

You were so occupied in your little bubble, that it took you a moment to notice Father Paul coming in front of you with his hands out.

You looked down at his palms, then up at him, and he waited patiently. You slowly placed your hands in his, and he pulled you away from the counter and began to sway with you. So gentle, then he tentatively brought your hand up to his shoulder and he brought his other hand to your waist; guiding you through a little dance.

Neither of you said a word.

Not there was anything to say really.

Somehow the two of you just felt very…human.

Your neck hurt from looking up at his dark eyes, but you didn’t stop. He watched you just as closely as you moved slowly through the room in small circles.

“…You know I used to be alone before I knew you…and I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch, and love is not some victory march. It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah…”

The smell of baked cookies surrounded you, and you almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.

But in that moment, it didn’t feel absurd.

It felt like two kindred souls enjoying some shared time. Any obligations or expectations melted away as you felt the warmth from his hands meld into your tendons and heat your sinew. His fingers holding yours felt more akin to a cradle and his breath between you was like smelling your childhood.

Your heart ached.

Perhaps it was that no one had held you in years. Let alone danced with you.

Hugs and pats on the back were about the extent.

“…and it’s not a cry that you hear at night, it’s not someone whose seen the light, it’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah…”

The two of you slowed until you came to a standstill in the kitchen, simply standing less than a foot from eachother. When the timer dinged this time, neither of you jumped away. The sound certainly brought you down to Earth, but somehow you only found yourself staring up at the man. You weren’t altogether confused, though you were curious and a little nervous.

Why had he done that?

Why did you do that?

You had felt so comfortable…like this was an old friend of yours who you had just seen again after years apart.

John gazed down at you…his mind rich with turmoil and deep contemplation. When he had taken your hands in his, it had been as if God had moved through him.

Compelling.

Like God had told him to embrace the good of the past, and remember what he was working towards. To restore exactly that.

After a few breaths, Father Hill released your hand, and you both quietly walked to the oven.

The last batch now sat on the cooling racks, and you sighed.

“I’ll pack these up and bring them by the rectory before service tomorrow, Father.” You broke the silence.

Father hill nodded, “Thank you my girl.” He said softly.

You nodded and looked down at your hands, “Thank you for your company.” Then looked back up at the man before you.

He tilted his head to you as if to tell you that you were welcome or that it was his pleasure.

He slowly unrolled his sleeves, and you picked his sweater up for him from the living room.

You almost felt bad to watch him go. It might have been nice to talk to him for a few hours more.

He finished tying his boots and graciously took the sweater from you, and slipped it on over his collared shirt.

“Goodnight, y/n.” He murmured as he opened your door.

“Goodnight, Father.” You whispered back.

He stayed a moment longer, and smiled gently at you, then he was gone.

You stood in your doorway, watching him go, and as he left your sight, you found yourself returning to your senses. A wave of embarrassment chilled you when you realised what you had just done. Yet somehow you didn’t feel entirely guilty. It had felt as if some kind of blanket had enveloped the two of you just like when he conversed with his flock after mass- a bubble around you.

You packed the treats away after cooling, and silently went to sleep. You didn’t let yourself dwell.

“It’s great to see so many of you here today. But I do have to ask, why not every Sunday? Christmas, Easter, I get that. But there’s also always an uptick around the start of Lent. Why is that? What’s so special about today? Ash Wednesday, beginning of Lent. It’s hardly a crowd-pleaser.The beginning of repentance, making amends for our sins. Sin. This darkness, this blackness that spilled into us. That darkness, we wear it on our forehead today. Just a smudge of it. Uh…A smudge of death, of ash, of sin for repentance. Because of where this is all actually heading, which is Easter. Rebirth, resurrection, eternal life. Life that rises again…” Father Paul stood before you at the pulpit, presence commanding as ever.

“Even out of blackness, love rises again. Even out of sin. And this island, it will rise again. Even out of disaster, rebirth, restoration, eternal life. Jesus sees you. Sees you, best of all, and he sees you true. Because, don’t forget, who did he seek out? Who did he turn to, to build his church?His apostles. Jesus’ first disciples, they were fishermen. One of his first miracles, right? The nets are empty, fishermen desperate. Jesus says, “Put out into deep water and let down your nets for a catch,” and when they pulled up those nets, a bounty of fish.” You could practically feel the worshipers buzz around you as their heart rates picked up, just like yours.

“He sees you. Oh, yes, he sees you, brothers and sisters, and he will resurrect this island, and he will again fill your nets. It’s great you’re here today, but please keep coming back. Those doors, they’re always open, as the gates are always open. You just bring yourself. God will do the rest. As Psalm 60 tells us, “God, You have rejected us, You have broken us down, You have been angry. Restore us again.” Do you know what psalms are? They’re songs.The word psalm from the Greek psalmoi. It means “music.” Songs of prayer. Songs of praise. That’s who we are. That’s who we must be. That’s what it means to have faith, that in the darkness, in the worst of it, in the absence of light and hope, we sing. “Restore us,” we sing to the sky. And He will, my friends. He will. That same hand that dealt you your hardship, that same hand will make you whole.”

A single tear fell from your eye. God works in mysterious ways, and you could almost feel God working through Father Hill that day. As if God truly was trying to tell you that he was there with you. And Father Hill spoke as if he knew something good was to come- as if God had shown him.

And you believed him.

As you stood, you could hear Annie trying to urge her son to accept the cross of ash, and you gave her a small reassuring smile when she filed in behind you.

“Y/n remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” The preacher murmured to you. Your face was bright that day, happy. John suppressed a smile.

“Amen.” You said quietly, flicking your eyes up to his. He stared down at you steadily, calm as ever.

“Bless you my child.” His was was low and serene.

It was a peaceful stroll down to potluck. You watched as birds started to flit in the trees and chirp; bees starting to buzz, the gentle sound of the shore. Rebirth.

You checked behind you every so often as you walked in case you saw Father Hill; you had brought the cookies to the rectory that morning before service, and when you had offered to help carry the three large containers after, the Father had declined.

You had insisted.

But he insisted harder.

It was wonderful to see the islanders enjoy the little festival. Sharing with each other and laughing. It didn’t happen often. It was as if everyone pushed off their exhaustion just to enjoy that day. Problems could wait until the next day.

You made your way through the locals that you knew well, and stopped a little longer with some. Annie stood with Ed, and you noticed them smiling; perhaps it might seem like a strange thing to notice, but you knew all about Ed’s troubled back, and how their marriage was a little exhausted…it made your heart glow a little to see them happy. Most everyone seemed happier if you were honest, and it wasn’t just that day.

Your legs began to ache after a half hour, and you took to the edge of the festival to sit. You liked this. Watching everyone around you.

“Mind if I join you?” You looked up to see Father Hill walking over to you, a cup of juice in hand.

“Please do.” You scooted over to give him a little more room.

He sat with a soft grunt.

“You did your hair different.”

You turned to him. And your lips parted in surprise, “Wha-“

“I’m sorry- I noticed during communion. Just came to mind.” He said a little awkwardly though no less sweet.

Your mouth fell open a little, “I did. First day of lent…I like to do a little extra for it.” You rambled.

John smiled at you.

You looked pretty.

Not that he could say that.

But you did.

“The crockpot luck…I hear it’s a yearly staple for the island.” Father Hill said to you as you both looked out over the festival.

You nodded, “Sure is…”

John turned to you then; your tone was a little more reserved. Like you weren’t saying all you wished to.

“You’re not a fan of it?” He asked curiously.

You thought for a moment. “Can I be-“

“Honest?” He cut you off. Echoing your words from the night before.

You smiled, “Yes.”

“Please do.”

“I-… Lent is supposed to be a time of fasting and repentance and prayer…I just…it seems strange to have a festival on Ash Wednesday.” You said quietly.

He nodded, “Perhaps a little unorthodox.”

“I think I’ve always found it just…a little odd. Our Monsignor was the one who came up with it, you know? Coined the name. I just…I can’t help but wonder if his theology was a little…uh…off.” You mused, looking down at your hands.

Father Hill regarded you for a moment, and nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“I know you didn’t know him…he was a nice man…but…he was- is just a man. Man has his faults.” You shrugged, then turned to the man beside you, “No offence, Father.”

He chuckled and sipped at his cup, “None taken. I appreciate your candour.”

You pursed your lips.

You weren’t usually so unguarded.

You shouldn’t have said that.

Why did you say that?

This was the second time you had inadvertently said something to insult him within 24 hours. You felt shame start to rise in the back of your throat.

“I don’t want you to worry about offending me, y/n. I’m a friend and an ear to listen…if ever you want to talk.” He said, staring out at the sea of people, then back at you.

You sighed and nodded, “Thank you, Father. You’re very kind.”

He smiled.

Then you remembered something, “Father?”

“Hm?”

You shifted a little awkwardly, “I want to first thank you for maintaining my uh…specialized sacrament, but I just wanted to ask- have you changed the juice?” You asked him.

He thought for a moment, “I don’t believe so. We just got a new shipment…I can check if it’s any different…why?”

“It…it’s just…it tastes very strange. Almost metallic. I don’t know how else to describe it.” You thought back to how the taste stayed in your mouth after only a sip.

John shifted in his seat. You knew. He would have to find another way of give you the gift.

“I’ll find another one to give you. Not to worry.” He said, and patted your hand.

“Thank you, Father.” You chose not to dwell on him touching you.

“Well, I should return to my flock…trying to get to know everyone.” He said, then pushed himself up off the bench.

You nodded. You knew he was only temporary, but it was kind of him to try and get to know the members of the community while he was there.

He was charming and approachable, it wouldn’t be hard for him.

“Of course, enjoy!” You called after him. He waved back at you, and you scrunched your face up as the sun hit your eyes.

You sighed to yourself and after an hour, you began to make another round of the park. The town had truly lucked out with such a beautiful day for such a special day. After such a nasty storm just a few days ago, it was surprising.

You watched at the sun started to lower in the sky. Things were starting to wind down, and some had began to return home-

“Pike!”

You whipped your head around in the direction of the scream. On the other end of the park, you could see a crowd forming. You knew Pike was Joe Collie’s dog, and by the sounds of it, there was nothing good happening. You knew he was old, and loud, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly. You hoped he hadn’t bitten someone.

You crossed the field in just a couple minutes, and when you came to stand in the crowd, you felt yourself grow lightheaded. Pike was laying in a puddle of foamy bile and blood- the light leaving his eyes. You could hear Joe accusing Bev, and saw Sarah knelt over the dog…it was horrible.

“Alright everyone…back up.” Hassan waved his arms to try and disperse the crowd. Everyone began to walk away, and you could feel a solemnness come over the islanders. Like somehow they had all been snapped out of a trance and remembered their troubles.

You pursed your lips, but ultimately backed up as well. You wanted to help, but you knew there was virtually nothing to do. Pike was dead.

You kept to yourself for another hour, the as the afternoon dragged on, you started to collect the now-empty containers that had once held the cookies.

“Thanks for that, y/n.”

You looked over at Wade who was taking one last helping of…something brownish. A casserole of some kind.

You smiled, “Oh it was no problem. It was actually a group effort between the Father and I!”

His brows shot up, “Really?”

“Yeah he wanted to bring something. Wasn’t that nice of him?” You picked the empty containers up.

“Yeah…he- he seems like a real nice fella.” He mused, moustache twitching.

You nodded, “This was great, Mr. Mayor. See you Friday?”

He chuckled- you knew he was just fine with Wade, but you also knew he liked when people used his title- made him feel important. And you did your best to remind each person of their importance when you could.

“See you Friday, sweetheart.” He conceded.

You waved him off, then began your way back home.

John stood on the edge of the park watching you go. He had initially taken the spot to gaze at Sarah, but his gaze had been drawn when you were speaking with the mayor.

They really did love you.

And he understood why.

He watched you disappear down the road, dress fluttering in the wind.

•••••••••••••••••••

@littleredwritingcat @zaunite-leo @f4er1e-g1rl @purplemotif @vampyre-kin @professional-sinner @hamishlinklaters @spacechupss @pansexualpamandabear @ebiemidnightlibrarian

#father john pruitt #father paul hill x reader #father paul hill #midnight mass fanfiction #midnight mass #hamish linklater #flanaverse #happy Good Friday ya nasties #father John Pruitt x reader #father Paul hill fan fiction

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teyamskxawng · 1 year

Text

In Heat [VII]

Lo'ak Sully x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Previously: Chapter I, Chapter II, Chapter III, Chapter IV, Chapter V, Chapter VI

The rundown: After months of courting, you and Lo’ak finally make Tsaheylu.

Warnings: 18+ content, language, mention of reader's deceased parents, smut, characters are aged up, minors do not interact!! please

WC: 12.2k

A/N: This can surprisingly be read separate from the rest of the fic if you stumble across this and don’t wanna read the six prior chapters lol!! Thank you to anyone who’s been reading from the beginning, ily and I wanna give you flowers <3 this chapter was funnn + heavily inspired by the 2009 film

*4 months later*

With your eyes gently shut, you let yourself immerse in the soothing touch of your parents' heartfelt embrace. Cradled in their loving arms, you could almost believe they were actually in front of you, as if the RDA hadn't ruined your life and stolen them from you over half a decade ago. Slowly letting your eyes blink open, you took in the beautiful sight of their overjoyed expressions.

Throughout the years, you prioritized visiting your departed parents at the Tree of Souls every few days. But today's meeting was especially significant. It wasn't until today that you finally gathered the courage to tell them about your new relationship with Lo'ak.

Procrastination had been your ally in this matter, as you were well aware of how soul-crushing it would be to watch their delightful smiles and hear their excited words of praise and encouragement, knowing all too well that their appearances were a mere illusion.

Eywa knows Mo'at would have your ear if she ever heard you speak down on the cultural significance of connecting with your ancestors through the tree. But still, you were all too aware that your parents couldn’t physically be with you, nor could they experience the joyous moments brought about by each milestone in your new relationship with Lo'ak.

Which was why you knew that engaging in the sensitive conversation with them would be like pouring salt on a still-open wound. Their presence felt so tangible, but deep down, reality weighed on your heart.

Your parents would never have the chance to meet Lo'ak—at least not as the version of the man he had grown into since your parents last knew him as your young, rambunctious friend.

He had changed so much since then, and they would never see the person he had become. Lo'ak was now mature and full of wisdom, but he still possessed those endearing quirks that only grew more captivating with time. Your parents didn't have the chance to give their blessing to your union, and you wouldn't get to witness their reluctant smiles give way to roaring laughter as they’d have watched Lo’ak’s spirited attempts to impress them.

Probably most heartbreaking of all, they wouldn't ever have the chance to watch their future grandchildren scamper around in sheer delight, growing up before their very eyes.

It was funny how life worked. Throughout your entire childhood, there were so many questions swirling around your mind—questions you’d always wanted to ask your parents but never got the chance to. You were too young, too innocent, and just too damn content in your blissful ignorance to even fathom the reality that one day your parents would be snatched away from you in what seemed like the blink of an eye.

There were so many things left unsaid and unexplored. Among the questions crowding your thoughts was their connection, their unyielding love.

How did they know when it was time to leave their separate lives behind and commit to a shared existence?

It wasn’t just idle curiosity; you found yourself in a similar situation with Lo’ak. You loved him more than anything, and spending a lifetime together seemed inevitable. It was just a question of when and how the fuck you were supposed to approach that kind of topic.

Neytiri and Jake would've undoubtedly shed some light on your burning inquiries. They'd been there, done that, and would have happily guided you through the somewhat awkward yet endearing conundrum with honest advice. However, you couldn’t shake the odd feeling that clouded your judgment every time you considered confiding in them about their own son. It was just... weird. There was something too personal about it, making it feel less like asking for genuine wisdom and more like prying into an intimate family matter. They were Lo'ak's parents, not yours.

So, plagued by unanswered questions, you made the impulsive decision to reach out to your parents now that their spiritual presence stood before you.

“How did you know when it was the right time to make Tsaheylu?” you asked, full of uncertainty and curious desire. “I want to... I'm just...” Your voice faltered, the words stumbling and eventually fading away like a sad, distant echo.

Your mother, sensing your unease, gently cradled your face in her warm hand. Her touch was so delicate; it felt like the brush of a feather, like a figment in the corner of your imagination. Probably because she was, quite literally, nothing more than a figment in the corner of your imagination.

“You will know when the moment is right, tìyawn,” she said with an air of soft reassurance that only a mother could provide.

However, you couldn’t escape the persistent, nagging feeling in your chest.

The thing was, you had no idea when the right time to become mated to Lo'ak would come. Shaking your head in denial, you tried to convey your confusion without words.

That was when your father chimed in, his voice powerful yet soothing as ever.

“Eywa works in unspeakable ways. Always know that she will take care of you.”

Your father always spoke in tongues, offering words of wisdom wrapped in perplexing phrases. His words should have comforted you—they'd done so countless times before, providing you with food for thought that would last for days on end, giving you at least something to remember him by.

But today? Today, they only served to fuel a mounting sense of frustration inside you.

Unspeakable ways, your ass. The sky people killed your parents. They left you an orphaned child, alone and afraid in a world that would never be the same.

“Then why did Eywa take you away from me? Why would she leave me to fend for myself, all alone?” You shouted, no longer able to prevent the dam of emotions from bursting free. It was so unfair.

An overwhelming sensation bubbled up inside you as angry tears began to gather in your eyes. Your parents’ faces grew hazy, and your vision blurred.

"You are never alone." Your father's voice interrupted your wave of sadness, his brow furrowing in confusion. He reached out and placed a reassuring hand on the top of your head, his thumb softly grazing your temple. “See? We are right here, maite,” he laughed.

The chime of his laughter was so beautiful, so familiar, and you hated that it wasn't real.

Unable to maintain eye contact with your blissfully unaware parents, you swiveled your head away and barely managed to stifle a heart-wrenching sob. This was exactly why you were so weary of approaching such a sensitive topic with your parents' spirits.

Under normal circumstances, during your connection with the Tree of Souls, you easily juggled your emotions and kept things lighthearted—happy and bittersweet. But this time, the pain proved to be too overwhelming, too raw.

“I miss you both so much,” Your voice trembled as the words barely escaped your lips. Filled with grief and longing that seemed to almost strangle your voice, the words hung heavy in the air before dissipating like a delicate mist.

The comforting warmth of your mother's hand slowly receded from your cheek, and the protective touch of your father's hand slipped from your head as you were slowly pulled away from them into a sea of darkness.

As you reluctantly allowed your eyes to flutter open again, you found yourself back in reality, with the Tree of Souls standing majestically before you, adorned with its glowing pink vines. The bittersweet sensation of tears silently carved their way down your cheeks as you disconnected from the tree, gravity dropping your queue against your front with a soft thud. You couldn't even bring yourself to swipe the trail of snot from your nose. You felt numb.

Returning to reality always felt like emerging from a nightmare, with each haunting detail stubbornly clinging to the edges of your consciousness.

Next to you stood Lo’ak, detaching his tswin from an adjacent vine. He was quick to register the pain etched across your face, and with two long strides, he closed the gap between you both. Before you could even process what was happening, he gathered you into his arms, nestling your head securely under his chin.

He rubbed soothing circles into your back, deep enough to release your tension but gentle enough not to overwhelm you, all while whispering calming words into your ear.

“It’s okay, y/n,” he assured you softly. “You’re okay. I’m right here.”

In the sanctuary of Lo’ak’s strong arms, you continued to tremble, seeking solace as you struggled to regain control of your breathing.

Despite your inner turmoil, you felt an overwhelming sense of security enveloping you like a warm blanket with every tight squeeze of Lo’ak’s comforting embrace. As his arms continued to encircle you, providing solace unlike any other, it gradually became easier to control your shaky breaths. Lo'ak seemed to possess a natural ability to right the wrongs in your life, even when everything felt like it was spiraling out of control.

Your thoughts drifted back to the gut-wrenching period following your parents' unexpected deaths. You remembered how deeply that pain had cut, how lost you were in those dark days. Their absence left a deep void in your soul that threatened to swallow you whole.

Back then, in an attempt to cope with your insurmountable grief, you recklessly flung yourself headlong into your warrior training. You ignored the cautious pleas of Jake and Neytiri, who urged you to take a step back from all the violence that suddenly consumed your life. They wanted you to confront the depths of your sorrow and allow yourself time to grieve and heal properly, but their words fell on deaf ears.

You remembered how you stubbornly demanded that Jake let you back onto the training field. You were so intent on becoming the strongest version of yourself so that you could wreak absolute havoc on the RDA and avenge your parents.

And much to Jake's chagrin, you were back on the field just two days later, paired up with Lo’ak for combat training. But Lo'ak wasn’t just another trainee; he was your best friend, and he knew better than anyone that your emotional state was barely hanging by a thread.

When the training started, you swung fiercely at Lo'ak. You were relentless in channeling every ounce of emotion into your powerful strikes, trying to purge the pain from within. You attacked with everything you had, but he refused to strike back. Instead, he sidestepped each of your advances and dodged every one of your hits. At every turn, Lo’ak kept pleading with you to take a break, urging you to take a deep breath and find some other way to let go of all the anger you were holding inside.

But his words only fueled your rage.

His emotional appeal made you feel more out of control and increased your resolve to vent all those pent-up sentiments. You swung harder and faster at him, trying your best to land a solid hit, irrationally hoping it would somehow free you from your emotions.

Finally, after countless attempts, you managed to cuff Lo'ak hard on the jaw, causing him to stumble back and stare at you wide-eyed in shock. You took full advantage of his momentary bewilderment, managing another sharp hit to his nose. As your fist retracted from its solid connection with his face, it was marred with the dark red stain of his blood. Your stomach churned at the sight, but the part of you that was so angry with the world and all of its inhabitants was relentless.

There you were, standing in front of Lo’ak, fed up with everyone treating you like some delicate little flower. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Come on, Lo’ak! Hit me back!” you yelled at him, your voice echoing off the surrounding trees. The frustration had been building inside you for days, and you finally reached your boiling point. Everyone seemed to tiptoe around you as if you were a grenade, ready to go off at any moment.

Lo’ak stood in front of you, his face etched with concern. He looked into your eyes with a mixture of pity and sympathy—not at all what you wanted.

“y/n...” he began hesitantly, shaking his head at what could only be described as the shadow of your former self, but his words fell on deaf ears. His refusal to engage only served to fuel your anger even further.

In an act of blind frustration, you pushed him hard in the chest with both of your hands, hoping to elicit some sort of reaction beyond pity.

You didn’t want his sad eyes. You wanted him to feel your fury and understand how tired you were of everything. But much to your disappointment, Lo’ak barely even stumbled from your forceful shove. You moved to shove him again, but in that moment of pure emotion, he reached out and caught hold of your forearms, his grip gentle but firm enough to hold you in place. You tried desperately to pry yourself from his grasp, hissing, scratching, and doing everything in your power to swing at him.

As much as you wanted to best him physically, it was all in vain.

Realizing just how futile your fight truly was, you felt a wave of despair crash down on you. Just like that, all the fire went out of your fight.

Exhausted and defeated, your body went limp in his arms. Your head fell forward onto his shoulder as tears welled up in your eyes—a crushing conclusion to the emotions you had been holding in for way too long.

Lo’ak slowly released his grip on your forearms, sensing your vulnerability. He hesitated for a moment before carefully wrapping his arms around your fragile, bony frame, a heart-wrenching reminder of the fact that you hadn’t been eating properly or taking care of yourself since the loss of your parents. Despite your frailty, Lo’ak held you just tight enough to keep you steady while providing a comforting presence as tears streamed down your face. You were a wreck, crying and snotting messily into his shoulder, but you didn't have the mental capacity to care.

In times like these, words seemed to fail Lo'ak. But that was perfectly fine with you.

You didn't want him to lie and try to tell you that your parents would be missed, that they were in a better place now. You'd already heard enough of that bullshit, and it didn't help at all. So you were thankful when Lo'ak began to silently trace soothing lines up and down your back with one hand while the other cradled your head against his shoulder.

Your breaths came in short, rapid gasps between each of your sobs—hyperventilating from the emotional turmoil—and normally, you would have been mortified to be so helpless in front of your best friend. But with the weight of the world on your shoulders and an overwhelming sense of exhaustion washing over you like a tidal wave, embarrassment was the least of your concerns.

All semblance of decorum and composure abandoned, it felt as though everything would come crashing down upon you at any moment. You felt like you were about to pass out with how drained you were, how tired you were of everything.

“Hey, it’s gonna be alright, y/n. Just breathe with me, please. We can count together, okay? Just—one… two….” Lo’ak was doing everything in his power to comfort you as you stood there, struggling to regain your composure.

Despite his efforts, though, your sobs were impossible to ignore. They echoed throughout the forest, eventually grabbing the undivided attention of Jake, who had been keeping an eye on some of the other trainees around the corner.

Jake immediately sprinted over to investigate, concern etched across his face. As he approached you and Lo’ak, his wide eyes softened at the sight of you two.

Without uttering a word, Jake gently nudged his head in the direction of Hometree—a silent signal for Lo’ak to get you the hell out of the chaotic environment of the training grounds and take care of you. Jake knew that what you really needed was some peace and quiet to heal.

Following his father’s advice, Lo’ak remained silent as he took your hand in his and began guiding you back toward the refuge of your late family’s tent.

You and Lo’ak never held hands like that—there was never a reason to—but in that instance, it felt natural and comforting.

The warmth of Lo’ak’s touch seemed to spread throughout your entire body, providing an odd sense of comfort despite your emotional distress. As your heart pounded against your chest with each step you took together, it became increasingly clear that the simple yet incredibly meaningful gesture would be forever etched into both of your memories.

Lo’ak guided you through the forest landscape, bathed in the early evening's bioluminescent light, until finally, the view of Hometree dominated the horizon. Silently, carefully, Lo’ak led you along the path to your family's tent.

Lo’ak understood that it wasn’t about physical or even emotional support in just that singular moment—it was about standing beside you as a friend through life’s darkest chapters and refusing to leave you alone in facing such overwhelming shadows. And as much as he could feel the ache gripping every fiber of your being, he knew that together, you could slowly start rebuilding, piece by piece. After all, friends faced the storms together and remained standing side by side when everything else had passed.

And for the first time since the death of your parents, you felt a sense of safety that you never thought you’d feel again.

As Lo’ak gently led you through the opening of your tent, his comforting grip still holding your hand, you finally understood that your idea of “home” had shifted. It wasn’t bound by the walls of a tent; instead, it was embodied by Lo’ak himself. As long as he was by your side, everything would be okay.

The scene inside your home was etched permanently in your mind—you curled in a ball on the floor beside Lo’ak, your head resting on the makeshift pillow formed from his folded legs. His fingers tenderly brushed through the unkempt wisps of hair near your forehead.

Your eyes fluttered closed, allowing you to concentrate on the soothing sounds around you: the rhythmic sound of Lo’ak’s steady breaths and the gentle rise and fall of his chest as his lungs filled with air and released it back into the quiet world.

You felt his chest expand and contract beneath you, almost seeming to synchronize with your own breathing. The sublime connection created a shared heartbeat between you two in that tranquil space. Time appeared to stand still as silence enveloped the both of you, like Eywa herself was holding her breath to preserve the pure moment of peace.

It was in that quiet instance that you realized how perfectly you fit together—how well he held you, protecting your fragile heart while offering solace and strength in equal measure. Lo’ak’s presence reassured you over and over again: everything was going to be okay.

And likewise, now nestled safely within the circle of Lo’ak’s strong arms beneath the Tree of Souls, you were reminded once more that together, you would be okay.

“I love you,” you whispered against Lo’ak’s skin, almost in a daze, yet every word held immense sincerity.

You had loved Lo’ak as he comforted you all those years ago, and your love for him had never wavered—it burned just as brightly as it did back then. He was the anchor that tethered you to the world around you, his presence a comforting constant in the ever-changing tides of life. You cherished everything about him, from the gentle warmth that emanated from his touch to the familiarity of his laughter as you would relentlessly tease each other.

There wasn’t a single thing about him you would change—he wouldn’t be Lo’ak if you did.

Your heartfelt confession seemed to catch him completely off guard. It was as if someone had pressed pause on a video on one of Jake’s holo-pads, his entire being coming to a sudden standstill. He pulled away from your embrace, just enough to look down into your eyes. The desperation on his face only grew as he sought some kind of validation, some confirmation that what you said was real, that it wasn’t just some figment of his imagination.

You met his gaze, completely sure of yourself. There was no doubt in your mind regarding the depth of emotion behind those three simple words that had slipped from your lips. There was no trace of embarrassment or regret clouding your expression when you confessed your love for Lo’ak.

He simply stared back at you, wide-eyed and speechless, his gaze searching your face. He was just waiting for you to break out into a smirk, to let out a snort of laughter, to flick him in the forehead and say, “Just kidding, dumbass.”

But that moment never came. Instead, there you were, open-hearted and genuine, with all the unspoken emotions now laid bare between the two of you, raw and unfiltered.

You watched as Lo’ak’s gaze shifted to the right. You remained clueless as he was captivated by the sudden, enchanting sight of a flurry of woodsprites fluttering closer and closer to the two of you. Their tiny arms reached out, almost as if they were cheering you on, creating an atmosphere of wonder and delight.

Unaware of the spectacle unfolding behind you, your attention was drawn to Lo’ak’s face. Curiously, you tried to decipher his expression. You were kind of expecting him to say he loved you back, not stare gobsmacked above your head.

Lo'ak watched as one by one, the delicate woodsprites began to land on your head with the grace of a feather. The first one settled softly on your crown, followed by another... and another, each seeking its own perch on your head. Soon, at least a dozen of them had landed there, each adding to your iridescent halo that glowed like a luminous headpiece. As the radiant display enveloped you, it only enhanced your beauty further.

The once-overwhelming confusion in your eyes slowly gave way to a dawning look of amazement as you caught sight of the enchanting flurry that had piqued Lo’ak’s interest out of the corner of your eye.

The air was thick with anticipation as you watched the woodsprites gather around the two of you with bated breath. Their movements were graceful and full of energy as they happily flurried around before finally settling on Lo’ak’s shoulders in an almost comically straight line.

It was impossible to ignore the significance of the incredible moment.

The tiny seeds that detached themselves from the Tree of Souls were known to carry omens and symbolize sacred moments in one’s life. You knew in your heart that this was Eywa. She was speaking to you, giving you a sign. As always, your father was right.

You glanced over at Lo’ak, curious to see if he was comprehending the gravity of the moment just as much as you were. Sure enough, the expression on his face mirrored your understanding and awe. His stunned gaze flickered from your face to his arms, which were extended out to his sides and covered in dozens of brightly glowing woodsprites. An unspoken understanding passed between the two of you, cementing the mysterious but profound connection shared at that moment.

Just as suddenly as they had arrived, the woodsprites detached themselves from both your bodies and floated away. They retreated gracefully back to their home within the glowing heights of the Tree of Souls.

You followed their ascent with your eyes, craning your neck to keep them in sight for as long as possible, completely captivated by their presence.

An indescribable wave of joy surged through your body, electrifying and tingling every inch of your being. It was an overwhelming feeling of peace that engulfed you entirely and left a deep sensation of gratitude within your soul.

You were admittedly caught off guard as Lo’ak’s hand gently cradled your cheek. His touch was deliberate yet tender, guiding your face to meet his gaze. As his hand continued its journey, it slid from your shoulder and traveled down your arm before finally intertwining with yours, almost instinctively. A warm smile graced your lips as the feeling of your fingers meshing together felt as natural as the first time you had done so all those years ago.

“I love you too, y/n. So much,” Lo’ak confessed, his words effectively snapping you back to reality. Your smile broadened in response to his heartfelt declaration, trying to contain the overwhelming emotions that filled you from within.

The atmosphere around you was electric with love, and with a playful snort, you couldn’t help but tease: “I think that was Eywa telling us to hurry up.”

At that moment, all of your worries seemed to evaporate. You felt light and carefree and overcome with happiness. You felt so in love. The intensity of emotion that flooded through you needed release. It compelled you to take action.

Reaching out for Lo’ak once more, you wrapped your hands around the back of his neck and pulled him close, eliminating any space that separated the two of you. You were living in an idyllic moment, one where time seemed to stand still and nothing else mattered but the love you shared.

For a few moments, you both embraced one another tightly, allowing yourselves to take steady breaths.

It was almost as if your breathing was synchronized, which caused your mind to drift in curiosity. You wondered if this was what the bond would feel like—like your souls were so intricately woven together that it was nearly impossible to separate the two of you into individual beings.

As those thoughts swirled in your head, you tenderly rubbed your cheek against Lo’ak’s, reveling in his warmth and soaking in every detail of his closeness to you. His unique scent enveloped you—herbal and musky and sweet—further entwining the two of you in an enchanting dance of passion and love.

The very essence of him consumed your senses, and you felt like you could just forget the world and drown in his intoxicating scent, the tenderness of his touch, and the sheer intimacy of the shared moment.

In response to your affection, Lo’ak released a contented noise that very much resembled that of a soft purr, and you let out a breath of laughter at both the noise and the immediate blush that spread across Lo'ak's face as he tried to play it off.

Quick to quiet your snickers, Lo’ak let out a quiet “Shh,” but you could feel the corners of his lips against your face as they curled into a smile that mirrored your own happiness.

Feigning innocence while still keeping your voice low and full of tenderness, you replied with a delicate whisper, “I didn’t say anything.”

Like the overgrown child that he is, Lo'ak only squeezed you tighter around the waist and mocked you in an overly high-pitched voice. "I didn't say anything," he parroted. You couldn't even bring yourself to pretend to be annoyed. You were way too proud of how easily you could reduce him to purrs.

You continued showering Lo’ak with your love by alternately brushing your cheek over his and planting a series of little kisses all across his face, effectively shutting him up.

It was as though each kiss held its own message—a reminder that you loved him beyond measure. You wanted him to absorb every ounce of the adoration you poured into those delicate kisses.

Your hands instinctively found their way to his chest, exploring the well-known paths that traced the curves and definition of the muscles hidden beneath his skin. The affectionate and almost habitual gesture seemed to serve as a call to action. It was like a spark that ignited an unspoken understanding between the two of you.

At that moment, you were acutely aware of how desperately you needed Lo’ak, how you longed for him to be even closer to your heart and soul, to be one with your body.

You told him as much, whispered your desires into the shell of his ear.

As you pulled back to gaze into Lo’ak’s eyes, you immediately noticed his pupils dilated with anticipation, the same way they’d always get whenever you were about to fuck. Without hesitation, Lo’ak wrapped his arms around your middle and drew you toward him, his lips hungrily connecting with yours in a searing kiss. He almost missed your mouth altogether with the intensity with which he sought out your whispered offering.

Your hands tenderly rose upward to cradle the back of Lo’ak’s head as you licked into his mouth, savoring each delicious slide of your tongue against his own. Your tail swung eagerly behind you, unable to hide your mounting excitement. The soft tuft of dark hair at its end seemed to possess a mind of its own as it brushed against Lo’ak’s side—a physical manifestation of the magnetic pull drawing you even closer to him.

You practically drank him in, fully immersed in the intoxicating sensation of your lips fusing with his in a wondrous, familiar rhythm.

As the gentle breeze danced around you, you willingly let Lo’ak guide you down onto the cushiony grass, your back sinking into its soft embrace. You let him mouth his way down the length of your neck, his warm breath on your skin sending shivers down your spine.

Barely audible, he grumbled into your throat, “Love you,” once more. His voice was heavy with emotion, and the raw sincerity in his voice stirred an overwhelming wave of emotion within you.

Lo’ak’s tender affections continued to unravel the edges of your composure. You felt completely undone. You were sure there was no way that all he had done so far was kiss you. With your eyes closed and your senses heightened, you could feel every tender touch as he grazed his teeth over your pulse point and delicately trailed his fingers up the expanse of your legs as if tracing a map; his touch simultaneously commanding and gentle.

As he let his fingers roam further up your thighs, he paused to appreciate the softness of your skin, gently squeezing the supple flesh before tracing teasing lines along the innermost part of your legs. His thumbs gently brushed against the sensitive skin there, sending tingles throughout your body like electric sparks. Between each lingering touch, your breaths grew shallow in anticipation.

Stubbornly, he maintained a small distance between your bodies, refusing to give in and press up against you even though you were desperate for it. You shamelessly keened for it, tried to push your hips up to meet him. You wanted to feel him inside of you, and judging by the strain against his loincloth, he wanted to be inside you just as badly. But Lo’ak was such a little shit.

He relished taking his sweet time with you, deliberately drawing out each moment as he explored your body, teasing you for so long until you were nothing but a pliant wreck under his touch. He always prioritized your pleasure above everything else, which was simultaneously frustrating and endearing.

Lo’ak continued working his tantalizing magic on your skin, his fingers hovering so close, yet never quite reaching the spot where you so desperately needed him. It was maddening and exhilarating how meticulous he could be. The dance between agony and ecstasy left every part of you desperate for more. You wanted to scream in frustration.

Attempting to gather your resolve, you meant to firmly call out “Lo’ak,” but instead, it escaped your lips as more of an anguished, pleading moan.

Lo’ak didn’t seem to mind at all, only humming in response as he continued his passionate onslaught. Leaving a fiery trail of burning kisses, he started at your throat and made his way down your collarbone, stopping to linger at your sternum before continuing his journey over the fabric covering your chest. And you immediately came to the conclusion that the extra barrier of material just wouldn’t do.

You swiftly sat up to remove your top, so suddenly that you almost smashed Lo’ak in the face with your elbow in the process. But with your chest now bare to him, you decided that you might as well kill two birds with one stone.

Efficiently eliminating the need for any further interruptions, you hastily reached down and loosened the knot holding up your loincloth just enough for you to slide it over your hips and down past your legs, mindlessly tossing the garment to the side amidst the tall blades of grass. You were sure that you were going to have to spend an embarrassing amount of time trying to find it once all was said and done, and Lo'ak was definitely going to laugh at you the entire time and not help you look for it, but that was the last thing on your mind at that moment.

No matter how many times Lo’ak had seen you in that state of undress before, his astonishment and awe remained fresh and unperturbed each time. He had the same awestruck reaction, his eyes wide in admiration as if he were beholding some rare and precious treasure. Lo’ak’s face revealed a myriad of emotions as his eyes traveled over every inch of your frame, the corners of his mouth curving into a small, affectionate grin.

You found yourself rolling your eyes at his display, all while secretly delighting in how he never failed to worship your body without reservation. His presence had a unique way of making you feel at ease, even in your most vulnerable state.

Taking his time, Lo’ak’s gaze didn’t meet yours until he had thoroughly feasted upon the sight before him.

His soft voice whispered into the air, “You’re so beautiful.” Then, with renewed determination, he resumed his quest to leave you completely breathless and speechless, planting tender kisses against your now-bare chest.

His hands meandered their way back to the curve of your waist, securing your writhing form to the ground as if to ensure you couldn’t escape from the captivating hold he had on you. With heightened anticipation and growing desire, Lo’ak slowly roamed his hands upward to trace the delicate curves of your breasts.

Lo’ak somehow intertwined the perfect balance of fervor and tenderness in each of his actions while meticulously extinguishing any ability for words or coherent thought. It was like straight-up mush in your brain. You were swept up in the whirlwind of sensation that he created with such exquisite attention to detail, every touch enhancing the emotional connection between you.

It was in these moments where time seemed to slow down and reality faded away, that Lo’ak awakened a deeper connection within your soul—one built on trust, admiration, and an ineffable love that left you completely at a loss for words.

“So fucking perfect,” Lo’ak murmured, allowing the gentle pressure of his thumbs to glide across your sensitive nipples, already hardened into little buds from all the ongoing stimuli.

You let out a soft moan in response to Lo’ak’s continual praise, which seemed to envelop you like a warm, comforting ray of light. There was no doubt in your mind that you trusted Lo’ak with all your heart. He always knew how to make you feel so good every single time, without fail.

And as he began his tantalizing journey of sweet kisses, starting at your chest and gradually trailing lower and lower along the trembling lines of your stomach, you felt an exhilarating anticipation building within you.

He made his way down to your already-wet center, and all you could do was sink your head further into the ground beneath you, exhaling his name in a breathy whisper.

The sensation of Lo’ak’s delicate touch combined with the warmth of his breath gently sweeping over your core caused a shiver to resonate throughout your entire being. He gently spread your legs apart even further, comfortably positioning himself between them before diving in without any hesitation.

Lo'ak knew exactly how to reduce you to moans, and this time was no different. He shamelessly loved eating you out. His enthusiasm for doing so became apparent from the very first time you let him go down on you. You figured it must’ve been fate because, as much as the boy loved to talk, he transformed into something utterly irresistible whenever his mouth descended upon you—each tantalizing lick into your wetness and gentle prod of his tongue at your entrance made you feel like you were going to lose your mind.

He loved the way you’d go all soft under his touch, practically melting beneath his skilled tonguework. He reveled in the sensation of your legs wrapping around him, curling over his shoulders as your ankles crossed snugly behind his neck, the way your thighs tightened around his head each time he circled his tongue around your clit. Your body couldn’t help but respond to his every touch.

Lo’ak loved the noises you made. It was as if you were unable to contain yourself or the stream of moans and curses that would slip past your lips, bitten red from trying (and always failing) to keep quiet.

He especially loved it when, seemingly without realizing it, you’d reach out and bury your fingers within his braids, grinding yourself against his face because you couldn’t stand how teasingly slow he was going.

The first time Lo’ak went down on you, all it took was a few mindless ruts against the soft forest floor before he was groaning into your wetness, coming in powerful spurts inside his loincloth—all without being touched.

And now, as Lo’ak enveloped you once again in his teasing embrace, skillfully flicking his tongue in a wet stripe up your center before zeroing in on the sensitive nub at your front, you felt as entirely blissed out as he did during that first time.

As Lo’ak continued his deliciously tormenting work, exploring every contour with practiced devotion, you found yourself powerless against the rising tide of euphoria.

He’d barely been at it for more than a minute or two before you could sense the rising tension within your core and the trembling of your legs—telltale signs of your impending climax.

But you didn’t want to finish like that. Given the tender, emotional exchange of words you’d experienced together for the first time, you wanted to finish as one, harmoniously intertwined in a mutual dance of ecstasy.

You needed Lo’ak inside of you, so close that he could never leave, so deeply intertwined with you that it would be impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. It wasn’t merely about physical closeness; it was about forging a new kind of bond with Lo'ak.

To make Tsaheylu was to embrace a wholly different plane of affection. It was all-consuming and intense. The very idea of forming that neural connection with Lo'ak—sharing in his experiences and emotions, savoring every conceivable sensation together—left your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

As soon as that thought took shape in your mind, there was no turning back. You had set your heart on truly becoming one with Lo’ak—inseparable and forever bound together by love, entwining your lives like the intricate patterns woven into a delicate tapestry.

“Mmm, Lo’ak,” you called out tentatively, your voice wobbly from both the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body and the mere thought of finally making the bond with Lo’ak.

However, Lo’ak seemed to interpret your call of his name as a sign of your continued pleasure, which wasn't entirely false.

He practically doubled his efforts as he increased the intensity with which he went down on you, slurping loudly and adding a finger that tenderly brushed against your clenching hole.

Your reaction was instinctive—a barely audible curse slipping past your lips as you inhaled sharply, just barely catching yourself before losing control completely. Frantically, you reached out and tugged on Lo’ak’s braids, using them as an anchor in a desperate attempt to draw him away from the dizzying height of ecstasy that threatened to consume you.

His yellow eyes grew wide in confusion as they darted over your face in search of some explanation for the sudden interruption. Finding yourself at a loss for words due to the intensity of his unwavering gaze, you struggled to articulate your thoughts.

Your heart thundered in your chest, pounding against your ribcage as you nervously contemplated the words about to leave your lips.

Taking a deep breath, you began hesitantly, “I want us to finish together.”

You gently let your hand run down the back of Lo’ak’s head, continuing its path until it reached his arm. You tugged him closer to you until he had you caged beneath him, both of his arms planted firmly on the ground beside your head like a protective barrier.

Lo’ak’s face lit up with a radiant smile at your words. However, he was completely unprepared for what you would say next.

“Through Tsaheylu. Together,” you whispered almost inaudibly.

Your voice was so soft that one could easily have missed it, but Lo’ak’s eyes widened as if they were attempting to absorb the entirety of your statement. He had heard every single word loud and clear, and there was no doubt that he understood the significance of what you just proposed.

Lo’ak nodded emphatically, his chest rapidly rising and falling as his eyes wandered over your face, trying to determine for the second time that day whether this was reality or a dream.

“Yeah? You really want to?” He asked, his eyes filled with curiosity and hope, his eyebrows high on his forehead.

His hand tenderly reached out to brush away a stray strand of hair from your flushed face before gently cradling your jaw in a caring and familiar gesture of love. You mirrored his nod in response, silently conveying your mutual feelings and desires. At that moment, there was nothing else in the world that you wanted more than to make Tsaheylu with Lo’ak right there and then.

The atmosphere between the two of you was electric and palpable. A mixture of anticipation, passion, and unwavering trust laced the air.

Lo’ak leaned in closer, slowly bringing his face down to yours. Your lips met in a soft embrace—an innocent yet intoxicating kiss that was worlds apart from your previous messy and heated exchange. It was a testament to the deepening connection between the two of you, one filled with unspoken love, desire, and trust.

The emotions stirred by the simple act swirled around you like an invisible current, further cementing the bond that had formed throughout your time together. As Lo’ak’s lips gently brushed against yours, it seemed as though time had slowed down. There was no rush; no urgency had come into play when everything felt so perfectly crafted for the scene at hand.

The moment was intense, almost palpable, as you felt like your heart was on the verge of bursting when Lo’ak pulled back from your entwined lips, only to reach behind him and retrieve his braided queue. He swiftly pulled it over his shoulder, and as he held it up between the two of you, the dark hairs at the tip cascaded gracefully to the side, revealing the delicate pink tendrils that seemed to dance in anticipation.

You had seen Lo’ak do it countless times before—when he’d mount his ikran, when he’d ride the direhorses, when he’d connect to the Tree of Souls. Despite the familiarity, you found yourself marveling at the mesmerizing sight. This time was different, and the significance of what was about to happen hit you like a bucket of cold water.

By connecting in mind and spirit, Lo’ak would share all that he was with you—each memory enlivened with vibrant detail; every emotion given depth and nuance; all senses heightened and magnified beyond any experience you could have ever imagined.

And now the moment had finally arrived, the pivotal point in your relationship where you and Lo’ak were about to link queues and become one, mated for life.

With that thought in mind, you quickly shifted, momentarily lifting your back from the ground so you could seize hold of your queue.

Your hand shook with nervous excitement as you reached it out towards Lo’ak’s, your entire being ablaze with anticipation. You couldn’t help but wonder what the connection would feel like, how the essence of another living, breathing person would seep into the very depths of your soul.

As the tendrils of your queue edged closer to Lo’ak’s, they finally intertwined, sending an almost electric jolt through every fiber of your being.

You could feel the presence of another living, breathing entity residing deep within your soul, as though you had welcomed in a part of yourself that had been missing all along. It was as if every fiber of your being was united with his in a timeless bond.

You hadn’t even realized that your eyes had fluttered closed.

When you finally opened them again and let reality return, the first thing you sought was Lo’ak’s gaze.

And there he was, staring intensely at you, his dark pupils dilated wide in awe and wonder. His breath was shaky as it fanned across your face, a shared acknowledgment of the incredible experience that had just unfolded between you two.

The sensation was beyond anything you’d ever experienced before.

You could feel everything. Every single thing. The pounding of his heart seemed to reverberate within your very being, its rhythm unmistakable and powerful. It was as if every breath he took inhaled a part of you, and each exhale released a warmth that spread throughout your entire body, all in perfect sync.

And it wasn’t just his physical presence that became entwined with yours. His thoughts raced within your mind. The shared experiences birthed a flurry of emotions—pure love, affection, and desire—that poured into you. It was as if you could experience the entire spectrum of his emotions all at once.

The pleasure coursing through him fueled your own tenfold, creating an indescribable sensation that beckoned from deep within your soul. It was a pulsing, throbbing need centered between your legs, more powerful than anything you’d experienced even during the peak of your heat cycle.

Driven by instinct and a primal need for release, you wrapped your legs around Lo’ak’s waist, seeking any form of friction available to ease the mounting pressure.

And though you knew damn well it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy either of you completely, even that slightest contact seemed to amplify everything happening between the two of you.

Almost as if orchestrated by fate, you both found yourselves moaning in unison at the feeling of sheer pleasure from the brief contact, a guttural sound born from the depths of pure ecstasy. The sensation was so intense and all-consuming that it almost knocked the air from your lungs.

“Shit, y/n,” Lo’ak groaned, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he tried to hold himself together. He firmly gripped your waist for support while you both struggled to catch your breath.

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of your combined labored breathing filling the air, mingling together and growing progressively louder as you continued to grind yourself against Lo’ak’s clothed front. You could feel how hard he was with each press of his length against your soaked core.

“Get this thing off,” you mumbled, blindly searching with your hands to get a grip on his loincloth, because why was he still clothed and not splitting you in half at that very moment?

Lo’ak understood your urgency and quickly moved to get rid of the garment in question. He untied the knot from around his waist with haste, allowing his loincloth to drop unceremoniously to the floor beneath him and finally expose his throbbing length.

The sight before you was mesmerizing. His cock seemed to sway in front of your eyes, as if calling out to you. It was already so full, the tip dark and leaking a steady trickle of precum.

Without hesitation, Lo’ak gently nudged your legs further apart using his knees, leaving you completely exposed to him once again. He firmly gripped himself, unable to resist the urge to slowly buck his hips into his clenched fist.

Your head, which had been lifted off the ground so you could fully appreciate Lo’ak in all his unclothed glory, abruptly fell back to the ground with a loud and what should’ve definitely been a painful thud. However, the sensation of pain didn’t even register in your mind.

You were entirely consumed by the incredible pleasure coursing through Lo’ak’s body, a pleasure that rippled throughout your being through the bond with such an overwhelming intensity that it elicited a broken moan from your lips.

Breathlessly, you began to speak, “Oh my...” but the words were cut off by the sudden feeling of Lo’ak’s tip brushing teasingly against your swollen nub of nerves, tracing a tantalizing path from your clit along your slickened folds, and pushing you closer to the brink of insanity.

The anticipation continued to build, stretching out the moment and making it seem like an eternity as you both danced on the precipice of pleasure—every touch, every whispered word drawing you further in while heightening the emotional connection between you two.

Lo’ak leaned down to his favorite spot: the tiny, delicate jut where your neck met your shoulder. He sucked a bruising kiss into your skin, all the while continuing the slow, borderline sadistic slide of his cockhead against your front.

With each tantalizing nudge, his grunts echoed against the soft flesh of your neck, reverberating throughout your body.

Desperate for more, you managed to gasp breathlessly through the haze of pleasure. “Inside, Lo’ak. Please, I need you.”

At last, it seemed as though your plea had broken through to him.

Lo’ak seemed to snap back into focus from his euphoric daze, finally pulling away from your neck. Licking his lips in anticipation, he nodded in agreement.

“Yeah. Need you too,” he rasped out.

His gaze flickered between your flushed face and the spot between your legs where he’d been teasing you mercilessly, back and forth, as if he couldn’t get enough of observing every tiny movement you made. His rapt attention seemed to hang on your every labored breath, each moan and whimper that escaped your lips.

Finally, Lo’ak cautiously started to make his way inside of you.

Your eyes clamped shut as your forehead crinkled in reaction to the familiar yet still startling stretch.

You mentally chastised yourself for every time you’d obliviously joked about how small he probably was, how his extra finger probably only existed to compensate for what he was lacking in other areas. Your smug ignorance seemed laughable now, as it was clear that your prior words were wholly mistaken.

He was anything but small. His size was, by all accounts, definitely more than substantial. That much was evident, as reiterated by the burning stretch of your walls each time Lo’ak would initially sink into you. You probably would never get used to it.

Lo'ak could’ve been annoyingly conceited about it. He could’ve laughed at the look on your face and made you endure the full brunt of his size all at once, because that was honestly what you deserved. It would’ve been a taste of your own medicine considering the past teases you’d ignorantly thrown his way.

But, despite it all, he didn’t.

He was always so soft, so gentle about it, handling the situation delicately and never failing to check in on your well-being—just as he was doing now.

“You okay? You have to tell me if it’s too much,” he said softly, his thumb gently brushing across the inside of your thigh. His eyes darted across your face, searching every inch for any hint of discomfort.

Despite the uncertainty in his words, you were sure that he could feel the extent of your pleasure. Through your neural connection, he definitely had to have known how much you liked it when he stretched you open.

With some effort, you peeled your eyes open, staring up at Lo’ak with a half-lidded look of languid satisfaction. Your head shook from side to side as a contented grin formed on your lips.

“No,” came the breathy reply, “it’s so good. Love how full you make me feel.”

And with that, you pushed yourself even further onto Lo’ak's length, continuing until you felt no space left between you; his hips pressed snugly against your front. The sensation of him being completely inside of you filled your heart with joy, and a gentle nudge against your cervix confirmed that he was deeply connected to you in every way imaginable.

Lo’ak pressed his chest against yours, allowing the warmth of your bodies to merge as one. His forehead tenderly touched yours, and you both closed your eyes, fully immersed in the moment.

Time seemed to stand still as you both indulged in the bliss of being as close as possible, physically and emotionally connected like never before. It was a sensation that could never truly be captured in words.

Lo’ak moved ever so slightly from your intimate embrace, pulling out only to ease himself back into you purposefully. It was as if he were guiding you on a journey to another world, one where the two of you floated seamlessly through space and time.

He fucked you slow and sweet with tiny, measured thrusts that mirrored the tempo of your heartbeats, synchronized by the undeniable connection between you. The mutual dance of love continued with deliberate grace as Lo’ak led the way with his gentle and controlled movements. It was that intense physical expression of love that made it impossible to break from the embrace.

Your lips languidly grazed against each other's—just mere whispers of breathy, open-mouthed kisses that tasted like love itself.

As your intimacy built to a crescendo, so did your readiness to accommodate him completely. You were so wet, and you welcomed each gentle slide of his cock with ease, your bodies effortlessly melding together as one. You lovingly opened up for him, enveloping him whole with passion and tenderness.

It wasn’t hard and fast like you sometimes inevitably went at it with each other. Those instances took place hastily, either in between grueling training sessions or hidden in quiet corners of Hometree late at night. In those fleeting moments, you were constantly on high alert and trying to keep quiet. Every breath carried a sense of urgency and anticipation, as if someone might discover your intimate secret at any second.

However, things were different now. There was no sense of urgency. There were no watchful eyes, no impending duties or responsibilities that you’d had to run off to.

It was just you and Lo’ak, connected in the deepest manner conceivable—physically and emotionally united in the most intimate way possible.

As you lay there together in that beautiful moment, Lo’ak continued to whisper tender words of appreciation that seemed to make their way up your spine like tiny sparks, sending shivers of pure bliss up your spine. It felt as if his gentle, breathy little praises had some kind of magical property, tracing the path along your neural whip and leaving sparks of sensitivity all throughout your body.

He continued to fervently whisper sweet praises—"just like that" and “so good, y/n”, and each one made you feel even more entranced by the newfound connection you shared. You were convinced that his voice alone had the power to make you surrender completely and melt into the floor beneath you.

You were at a loss, unsure of what to do with your hands. They stretched aimlessly above your head, with your fingers absentmindedly plucking and tearing blades of grass from the ground beneath you.

You finally reached out toward Lo’ak, hooking your arms beneath his and clutching at his back as if attempting to anchor yourself into some semblance of reality. His movements seemed to cut through you, each thrust driving a wedge deep within your core that further solidified the bond shared between the two of you.

“I love you so much,” Lo’ak murmured into your mouth, his grip on your waist growing stronger to emphasize the undeniable sincerity behind his words. He continued, almost manic in his declaration, “Fuck, I love you. You have no idea.”

His voice was low and throaty, and you could only respond with a moan of unconditional agreement. It felt as though once he had uttered those three powerful words, it was no longer enough for him to simply think or feel the intensity of his love for you—he had to say it aloud, over and over again.

It wasn’t as if the two of you had been deliberately or even knowingly avoiding saying those words until now.

You obviously loved each other and were obviously in love with each other for as long as you could remember. However, your journey began as best friends and remained that way for such a long time that you didn’t really know how to approach the affectionate verbal confession until now. It was as if uttering those special words might somehow disturb the delicate balance between friendship and romantic love that the two of you had maintained almost effortlessly for so long.

Sure, physical affection was something you’d grown comfortable with. The intimacy of sex with Lo’ak was electric, and it left you both breathless. Nonetheless, the foundation of friendship you had built over the years remained strong and unwavering.

The very fact that you were not only lovers but also best friends added an intricate layer of complexity to your still-new relationship. It was exciting yet puzzling at the same time, figuring out how to balance your undeniable love for one another with the familiarity that came with years of close-knit friendship.

At times, you both found yourselves grappling with the delicate balance between foolhardy banter and serious talk about your relationship.

You’d often resort to flustered, stuttering wrecks whenever anyone around you would steer your conversation toward topics like mating or raising children together. It was clear that both of you deeply desired those things, but figuring out how to effectively communicate your feelings and intentions was still a work in progress.

And in all those months since you'd been courting, you just hadn’t yet learned how to express your affection for one another in its purest, verbal form.

Sure, Lo’ak would often share the things that he loved about you: “I love your eyes...”; “I love how much you care about everyone around you, even though you pretend like you don’t...”; “I love the way you look on top of me...”—yet despite all the passionate declarations, the simple utterance of those three potent words remained an unspoken truth between the two of you.

It was just another one of those things that the two of you danced around until one of you was bold enough to face it head-on. And it definitely hadn’t been the first time, as you recalled how you’d skirted around your feelings for each other for years before finally admitting them to each other only a few months ago.

That was precisely why the phrase “I love you” carried such monumental weight each time it escaped from Lo’ak’s lips right in front of you.

Those three little words felt like a sacred hymn that touched your very soul. You savored every syllable, allowing his tender words to envelop you, allowing his warm breath to caress your lips—just a hair’s breadth apart from his.

You could practically feel the warmth of his love emanating from every touch, each caress sending shivers down your spine. Simultaneously, the heat in your core intensified, amplified by a heady concoction of love and lust. You became increasingly aware that you weren’t going to be able to last much longer. It was all so intense.

Yet even amidst the whirlwind of raw emotion and overwhelming passion, you found yourself wishing that the breathtaking moment could stretch on into infinity. The connection shared between you and Lo’ak was so powerful and awe-inspiring that the thought of it ending seemed unfathomable.

“Fuckfuckfuck Lo'ak, I’m gonna—” You barely choked out the warning, your words probably indecipherable as your entire world seemed to blur and your vision whited out around the edges. Your body went rigid, your walls clenching around Lo’ak so tight in a series of spasms that left him stuttering his thrusts to a halt.

He threw his head back in a deep moan and held onto every last bit of control he had left, trying his best not to spill inside of you in that overwhelming moment. Despite the literal death grip you had on him, he managed to hold on for just a bit longer.

Through it all, Lo'ak covered your face in soft, tender kisses as a wave of pleasure washed over you. Your body felt light and blissfully exhausted under Lo’ak’s tender and unrelenting affection. You felt utterly spent under his unwavering care.

As your high finally started to subside, all that remained was a lingering, trembling sensation running through your body.

Lying there with Lo’ak still fully enveloped around and within you, all you could do was weakly reach up and run a shaky hand through his braids, holding him close to you until you slowly came back to your senses.

In the aftermath of your intense orgasm, you could unmistakably sense the desire emanating from every fiber of Lo’ak’s being through your bond. He was holding himself back, trying to stabilize his frantic heartbeat.

Both of you had mutually (and flusteredly) agreed that you weren’t ready for children anytime soon, both still young and wanting to take your time with one another. You wanted to cherish every moment with Lo'ak in the honeymoon-like phase of your relationship for a few more precious years before even entertaining the thought of building a rambunctious herd of little kids.

With that mutual agreement in mind, you gingerly unfurled your legs from Lo’ak’s waist, keenly observing his every move as he painstakingly pulled out of your tight wetness.

With a final obscene popping sound, he finally withdrew completely, firmly gripping the base of his slickened shaft. His eyes squeezed shut, his head hung low, and his breath escaped in shallow puffs of air.

You propped yourself up on one elbow, reaching out with your free arm to swat Lo’ak’s hand away and get him off yourself. As your fingers curled around his length, a look of determination crossed your face.

Lo’ak leaned into the sensation of your tight grip, letting out a deep moan as he instinctively thrust into your fist to meet each of your pumps.

You relished in the way Lo’ak went pliant under your fingers—his arms hanging limp at his sides and his head thrown back in overwhelming pleasure from just your slightest touch.

You sat up fully, instinctively steadying yourself with a firm grip on Lo’ak’s hip. You delicately brought your mouth to him, licking a wet line all along the length of his shaft, leisurely starting from the base and gliding up to the tip.

The sudden sensation caught Lo’ak completely off guard, his eyes snapping open in surprise to just barely catch the sight of you taking the swollen head of his cock between your lips.

As you did so, your other hand moved in perfect synchrony, gripping and pumping at the base of his shaft. Your head skillfully bobbed up and down in a leisurely dance of pleasure as you took him deeper into your mouth.

The entire ordeal created a messy symphony of sound: a concoction of your own slick arousal, saliva, and his leaking precum forming an unmistakable wetness. But much to your delight, you loved every moment of the sensory overload—almost as much as you loved watching Lo’ak slowly fall apart above you.

Taking your time (as well as revenge for how cruelly slow Lo'ak had teased you earlier), you gently slid your mouth off his head with a wet, satisfying pop. As your hand continued to lazily fist his shaft, your eyes were completely captivated by his reactions, as if you were privy to a secret performance just for you.

He looked the same way he always did when you sucked him off—all disheveled, his cheeks flushed with passion and a series of low moans escaping his throat—and you loved it so much.

But even more so, you loved the intimate connection that allowed you to feel every emotion coursing through him: the boundless love, the fiery desire coursing through his veins, and the growing anticipation toward his climax. It was an exhilarating experience. It made you want to be the one to make him lose himself completely, just as he had done for you moments ago.

With purposeful intent, you guided Lo’ak back into your eager mouth, sending subtle vibrations coursing through his body by gently humming around his length and eliciting yet another groan from him.

Carefully meeting each of his responses with enthusiasm and skill, you took him deeper and deeper into your mouth. Your movements became bolder, taking nearly all of him until he grazed the back of your throat before gradually sliding back up once more.

You repeated that motion once, then twice, before you heard Lo’ak calling out your name, desperately warning you that he was about to come.

You couldn’t help but smile when you felt Lo’ak twitch in your mouth. It was a familiar sign that he was about to spill every last drop of himself down your throat.

Lo’ak’s fingers gently found their way through your hair as he released a deep, guttural groan. He watched you through half-closed eyes as he came in sharp bursts into your eagerly awaiting mouth.

Your enthusiasm was unrestrained as you swallowed around him, hungrily capturing every last drop of him. You practically sucked Lo’ak raw, leaving him gasping and whimpering from the overstimulation.

Eventually, you decided to show him some mercy as you slowly trailed your lips upward along his overly-sensitive shaft. Gently, you placed a tiny kiss on his tip, grinning like a madwoman at how Lo’ak’s eyes squeezed tightly shut, his abdominal muscles tensing in response to the sensitivity of your touch.

With his eyes still shut, Lo’ak shook his head in disbelief, marveling at the power of your loving touch.

It was so much more than just physical contact.

Tsaheylu made everything feel a million times more powerful, more intense. You couldn't help but feel a little light-headed from the sheer perfection of it all, almost as if you were floating.

Without any hesitation, you grabbed hold of Lo'ak's arm and pulled him down to the ground until both of you lay side-by-side, face-to-face, basking in the blissful afterglow of your shared intimacy.

You hooked a leg over Lo'ak's side, drawing him even closer to your body. He responded with his own lingering touch, his hand confidently yet gently cradling your thigh as if it were second nature. It was a simple act of intimacy that somehow felt like so much more.

As you lay there in that tender embrace, your heartbeats synced as if they were dancing to the same rhythm. Soft smiles spread across your faces, and everything around you seemed to blur out of focus. It was just the two of you at that moment, wrapped up in the delicate threads of the bond that interwove between each of your shared glances.

Though your communications were mostly unspoken in that moment, it didn't matter. The way your eyes locked together and the raw emotion displayed on your faces told an entire story on their own—one of love, trust, and vulnerability. It was a conversation without words that could be understood by anyone who had ever experienced connection as powerful as Tsaheylu.

Your chest tightened at the undeniable joy that illuminated Lo'ak's face. His eyes sparkled with pure elation, and you were sure your face mirrored the exact same expression.

You were one—mated for life—and you couldn’t be happier.

The concept of time seemed to vanish into thin air as you remained entwined, reveling in the unmatched closeness. The intimate connection enveloped you like a warm blanket.

Lo'ak's voice came as a welcome interruption to the tranquility of the moment.

"Can I say it again?”

Completely spent and practically half-asleep nestled within Lo'ak's arms, you could only muster a faint 'hmm?' in response to his question. You closed your eyes and burrowed yourself further into his embrace. He was so warm.

You felt the soft vibrations of Lo'ak's laughter within your body, resonating deep within your chest. He was well aware of how you would always go all quiet and soft after sex. He also knew that you would drift off to sleep right there in the middle of the forest, completely bare, if he let you. He wasn’t going to let you.

"That I love you," he murmured, reaching out to tuck your hair back in place behind your ear. His fingers continued their journey to the nape of your neck, where they lovingly grazed the wispy hairs there. His touch was unimaginably delicate and tender; it was almost unbearable.

"Are you planning to ask for my permission every single time you want to say it?" You asked sleepily, the corners of your mouth lifting into a smile at the thought. You knew deep down that he would actually do it, and his response only solidified your conviction.

"If you want me to," he replied genuinely, his voice almost a whisper.

You opened your eyes, only to roll them at the earnest expression painted across his face, despite the way his words made your heart flutter. He was so endearing, so fucking adorable, you wanted to tease him for it. To be honest, you couldn't pinpoint when the shift happened—the moment he evolved from your foolhardy best friend into the still foolhardy, but also tender-hearted and affectionate man laid out before you.

"You don't have to," you began softly, stretching out your arm to take hold of Lo'ak's hand.

Slowly, you guided his hand towards yourself, pressing his open palm directly over your chest. Right over the rhythmic beat of your heart.

"I can feel it. In here," you whispered to him, making sure to emphasize the sincerity of your words by giving his hand a gentle yet meaningful squeeze. For a few seconds, the two of you remained like that. Silent, the only sound being that of your racing heartbeats.

Love—the breathtakingly powerful emotion—washed over you like a tidal wave as you lay there, your heart racing in your chest. Your heart beat with a fervor that mirrored the intensity of your mutual affection. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. The love was a beautifully combined force; it belonged to both you and Lo'ak equally.

The love vibrated deep within you. It surrounded you with its warmth and energy. It felt as if every fiber of your being was completely saturated with the incredible emotion, connecting the two of you with an undeniable bond. You were so deeply in love, and you knew Lo'ak could feel it just as strongly through every frantic beat of your heart.

As your hand gradually loosened its grip on Lo'ak's, his own fingers remained unwaveringly pressed against your chest, right above your heart. He seemed entranced, as though attempting to imprint every pulsating beat and the faintest echo of your heart beneath his palm into his memory. Time seemed to slow, as if granting him the chance to capture every minute detail.

He devoured every intricate aspect, each subtle expression that adorned you. And as Lo'ak gazed upon you with the warmest, most affectionate eyes, a tender smile of pure adoration spread softly across his lips. His entire demeanor conveyed a simple yet profound message—one that spoke of love and devotion beyond anything imaginable.

“You know I’m still gonna say it,” Lo’ak declared with a wide, boyish grin. “Every single day, for the rest of my life.”

The warmth that filled the air between you intensified as his grip on your waist tightened, drawing you closer to him as if trying to physically absorb the moment. His lips brushed against your temple in a slow, lingering kiss that seemed to carry the weight of his vow.

He meant what he said, and you knew that without a doubt.

You reveled in the feeling of his breath on your skin and the steady heartbeat that echoed against your chest. The simple pleasure was enough to make you giddy with happiness about the prospect of your future together.

As if reading your thoughts, Lo’ak squeezed you gently and whispered those cherished words into your ear over and over again, like a promise.

end

Taglist <3:

@vanillawhale, @strawberryclouds22, @countryandsweetbabygirl, @kurogxrix, @yunonaneko, @ahsatan785, @lauratstrange, @lwesodra, @kaealowri, @starboyloak, @thefirst-ofus

Previously: Chapter I, Chapter II, Chapter III, Chapter IV, Chapter V, Chapter VI

#teyamskxawng #teyamskxawng’s fics #lo'ak x reader #lo’ak x reader #lo’ak smut #lo'ak smut #avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar 2022 #atwow #lo'ak x y/n #lo’ak x y/n #lo'ak sully #lo’ak #lo'ak fanfiction #avatar fanfiction #avatar fic

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exocynraku · 14 days

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thoughts on a starless clan so far

i don't know if anything i said here has any definitive spoilers in it but i'll put it all under a cut for safety

short answer: it's ok. frostpaw's plot & the stuff with riverclan, riverstar & the COTP, splashtail & curlfeather are all REALLY COOL. I liked sunbeam in the beginning and have grown to dislike where her story has gone. I like the concepts surrounding nightheart's plot but dislike the execution & the reaction from the community. I am still excited for star. long answer:

frostpaw and splashtail's plot is really really good and ive been enjoying it a lot (probably because it reminds me of tpb). i liked sunbeam's plot with blazefire and lightleap and berryheart in the beginning but have gotten bored of her & her plot since nightheart showed up in her life & she moved to thunderclan. nightheart's plot has good concepts behind it but i don't like the execution & i don't like the 2 cross clan relationship plot in a row. i think it could've been better if they focused less on cross clan relationships and more on clan prejudice & xenophobia & the corruptness of the code system as a whole (though i know it's incredibly unlikely the writers would do that i still want To Hope) instead of just the romance part since we did that last arc (though i don't think it really got us anywhere as i personally dislike the 'trials' thing that was developed & don't think it's particularly useful). especially because it was specifically a cross CLAN relationship in a row. i'd be a bit more lenient if it was a clancat x kittypet/loner relationship as that hasn't been done in a bit (like if nightheart fell in love with a COTP cat or something).

i like the pacing per-book but i think the pacing overall could be improved upon as it feels both sunbeam and nightheart's plots have been too separate from & slow compared to frostpaw's plot and haven't really been meshing well in the later books as the erins try to tie them all together. i also don't know if this is just my bad memory but i dislike the change of sunbeam and nightheart's personalities over time. they both feel like they are becoming cardboard cut out main characters to me. i liked sunbeam's relationship with lightleap blazefire & her family and thought it all was really realistic and especially in the lightleap/blazefire department was a surprising change of pace. i dislike what has become of both her plot and her personality as i feel they totally abandoned the lightleap/blazefire plot and turned her into a flat love interest. i do think it makes sense for her as a character to yearn for love but i think it'd make even MORE sense if she had a much more complicated relationship with love

i'm not going to speak further on nightheart because i know no matter what i say someone WILL be telling me to kill myself in one way or another so i'll keep in brief: no matter what you think of him, you at Need To Acknowledge & Be Conscious Of The Fact That Very Bad Things Have Been Said About & To Both Women And Disabled People Because Of His Plot In This Community. yes some very good & well-thought out conversations have been said in response, yes the majority of these things were said months and months ago when asc first was starting, But That Does Not Mean You Can Ignore That They Happened. If you want the community you are apart of to not be perceived as jackasses you cannot Ignore The Hatred Towards Women And Disabled People That Festers Inside Of It. you don't need to write a 9000 page essay about it, that's not what i'm asking, you just need to be CONCIOUS of it okay that's it. also while thinking about this i thought of how i'd rewrite sunbeam and the third pov (which i'd give to sparkpelt) so if anyone wants to hear about that send me an ask i'll make another 4 paragraph post about it

#wc #wc spoilers #ray talk

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uninformedartist · 1 year

Text

The way Velvette is portrayed in Hazbin Hotel doesn't sit well with me.

To preface I am a fan of Hazbin Hotel and am looking forward to the show so-so. I want to clarify I mean no hate to Viv and her team, she has a creative mind even though her design choices are sometimes lacking to me. But this has been on my mind for a while especially as a poc.

Velvette has been a character ive enjoyed for the the longest time since her debut in the pilot. Even though her quick appearance she drew my attention for an unknow reason but she's just ah I love her. When I found out she was a poc and was into alternative fashion it drew me more to her as growing up I couldn't express myself in such clothes as it didn't suite my skin tone enough. Was never white enough or coloured enough (thats my race). I told my sister how I liked Velvette and she said she doesn't because of how she looks and it made me think. Velvette in all my relating to her lacks the representation I hoped she'd give others like she did me but she doesn't. Viv as much as I like her designs, underdesigned Velvette. She lacks poc features, what I mean by this is her skin tone mostly. I know she's a demon but I've see so many dark skinned monsters, demons, creatures that far surpasses Velvette. Her skin tone is this light brown- grey colour dispite being a black woman in her pitch bible (yes I saw it and I know lighter skinned black people exist but even so Velvette is so racially ambiguous point blank like many of Vivziepop's po characters and plus, her skin tone isn't even really a skin tone, its giving anime "dark/brown skin tones"), its lackluster actually and I wished it were different because I'm sure Viv has black/dark skinned design members on her team but no input from them was added to Velvette's design. Viv I understand is a poc but she is like me a lighter skinned poc, I myself have a difficult time drawing darker skinned characters and I know how Viv doesn't leave her comfort zone of character traits so it leaked into Velvette being such an under respresentation to black people/ dark skinned people. Her hair is also my end, Viv in all my years of following her has never experimented with poc hair textures/styles. It took so much more away from Velvette as a black woman with the hair style/texture she has now (I know black woman or woc can have straight hair but due to the embrace of more natural hair textures it would've been beautiful to see Velvette with a more natural hair texture). AGAIN Viv should've reached out to other designers for their input on her but no, its Viv's "character" (even though she doesn't technically own it anymore) and nobody can make such changes as its not in her vision/comfort zone.

Another thing I want to add is Viv's problem infantailising certain characters. I've seen it with Angel Dust, Niffty, Stolas and now Velvette and its not sitting well with me.

According to Velvette's pitch bible she is a 30 year old black woman, a *grown adult* who is also in the adult industry, cool.

This is a post by one of Vivziepop's staff members Sam, who also happens to be one of Vivziepop's closest friends too. They made a post comparing Velvette's to a certain character dynamic:

What the hell were they thinking. VELVETTE IS A 30 YEAR OLD BLACK WOMAN WHO WORKS IN THE PORN INDUSTRY AND YOU ARE COMPARING HER TO A PARENT/CHILD DYNAMIC!

TW:

She is involved in the adult industry along with Vox and Val. Valentino is shown to be a misogynistic man who is abusive, a rápist and much more, Vox similar. Velvette being involved with them isn't my issue, she's not a good person ha hell she probably condones their actions as she's an antagonist like them. The problem is I've seen Viv doesn't know the difference between a childish adult character and an adult character who is treated like a child and extention encouraged to be treated like one. Velvette has a childish fun personality thats all, that gives no reason to why she is treated like Vox and Valentino's child, SHE'S 30!

Fans and critics have pointed out how they keep seeing this problem how Viv portrays her characters. It creates a breeding ground for the fetishsization of these characters in a disgusting way. The amout of art I've seen depicting Velvette as their child is disturbing and TW: the amount of lòli art I have seen of her on unsavoury websites is just... I cannot. Just because of her personality she is being treated and seen as a child. I will not go into how woman of colour when reaching a certain age of development are not seen as children anymore even when they still are (we'll be here all day, its boils my blood I hate) but what Viv is doing is not right either. Strips away Velvette's agency especially as a black woman like Viv/team really should've thought before encouraging the infantailisation of her and such art posts as above.

In conclusion (since I lost my 1st draft aaah not typing that long again). Velvette is a good example to me of a poc character with lost potential. Viv had the power and choice to allow other poc creatives to give their input on her but simply didn't. She holds on to these characters so dearly and I understand she doesn't want to loose them, they are like her children. But they aren't anymore, she needed to let them be changed into their best version but alas no. Viv whether she likes it or not is in the mainstream now thanks to partnering with A24.

The audience has changed, we want to see better representation in media: various skin tones, sexualities, different body types, hair textures, even disabilities. Viv as a bisexual woc had the opportunity to give us so much more but didn't even knowing thats what audiences seek, like Velvette for example that's what I seeked and thought I saw but my rose tinted glasses got taken off by my sister and I saw what I saw wasn't all that.

You have the capabilities Viv, you have the resources, you have everything layed out in front of you to give us this why did you not, the boundaries were not pushed. Brake from your comfort zone, seek others inputs and criticism because if you go on like this you may fail. I've followed you for the longest time but not many times have you experimented with different body types, various skin tones and hair textures... no comment. I'll still support Viv's work and decide if I'll still be invested in it after Hazbin drops but I'm cautiously optimistic right now. Only wishing more grown for Viv, peace.

#vivziepop criticism #vivziepop critical #hazbin hotel velvet #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel critique #hazbin hotel critical

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floralkittygambler · 11 months

Text

Coming and Going - Some More Vivzie Shit

Before you start, this is an extremely LONG read covering this account, my views of Viv, my content and my relationships within this Godforsaken fandom. This is my most up to date thoughts in 2023 on everything. This is something I feel necessary for me to do.

Contents (in no particular order):

Current Situation

Relationships in the fandom

Why I started this Blog

Thoughts on Viv/co and how they've changed since m previous posts

the fans

future thoughts and moving on

accountability

If any of this interests you, read ahead. Titles will be provided for easier following.

Why I started this blog

Originally this was a blog like any other; art, reblogs n shit. As I grew more into a Viv fan, I started posting fanart and follow blogs on her work. The more I learned the more I hated, and thus I began to become a critic. I was pissed off at viv wasting her potential, and eventually I became just as toxic and shitty as both her hardcore haters and majority of her fans. Some takes were good, some bad, either way I got too involved, too absorbed and let it consume me. Stupidly getting into conflicts, stuff like that. And I became a hardcore hater. I vocalised it. My initial aims long lost. Then I disappeared.

Vivzie, co, all that

I went from adoration to disgust of this lot. Now though, whilst I deeply dislike Viv and her crew, deeply dislike majority of the fans, I just feel... Gross. Hollow. Exhausted. I have a lot to say on Viv and my previous takes but truthfully I am too lazy and too tired and ultimately have better shit to do than go through every little thing right *now*. But I do want to at least cover a few here to do some justice, I guess.

So to skim through a few. Lets go.

Viv tracing. Honestly, tracing is a useful skill but it's bad when you trace another's work, don't credit and claim it as your own. This includes modified tracing (starting with a trace then stylising over it to make it more your style). Having nazi, nonce, etc characters I think people take extreme. These sorts make excellent "love to hate them" villains. Owning such characters isn't a crime. It's how theyre portrayed and the purpose. The nuance - something to constantly keep in mind. Her romanticism sausage party art is yikes. With her age, maturity, humour, I believe she saw this as some kind of fucked up humour, having enough awareness to understand the taboo to hide this stuff yet I do feel this was a stupid kid doing stupid edgy shit. Does that make it right? No. But I definitely dont think Viv is some nonce or nazi supporter. Later finding out how this profile was discovered makes me equally question morality on all sides. Vivs beastiality nonce artwork with the snake tub, Ive seen private dms to solidify that viv admitted to both owning this piece and that it was supposed to be a joke. Once again, I genuinely dont think shes a nonce BUT she needs to realise that if that character was below 18, she has drawn child prawn (censorship whooo) as well as distributed it via sharing online. That's still something really serious and gross. I get her humour is immature and dark, but theres lines you dont cross. And I dont find that art funny in any ways, it genuinely looks like a perverts wank bank rather than funny. Idk if the lad was one of them shapeshifting animals either but being in a human form in this instance does make the portrayal a beastiality one, due to human presenting. That's not cool. As much as I loathe those who would abuse kids or animals, I dont think this is Viv necessarily. Though I believe in this sense, Viv needs to understand and work with her cats more. She's done a lot of wrong shit but false accusations derail from solid proven issues that need addressing. At the least, Im glad the animal pervs and nonce stuff is gone. Heartbreaking that shit is so often heard of. This is the sort of thing Id laugh at as a kid but now Im grown and look after little ones, it fills me with nothing but sickening horror. Whilst vile vile vile, I havent seen anything concrete to prove or imply Viv supporting/participating in such depravity. And I fucking pray it stays that way.

You have apologised in the past. But the way you did so, the way you spoke about it afterwards and the way you are now proves it was insincere. Something to shut 'haters' up.

Viv, with all your shit, neurodiversity and late maturity, you're still yet to change for the better. The people you hang with are some of the most vile, toxic, narcissistic and shitty people. Yes men. You hire fans who'll do anything to please you, which can open the path to abuse (note: CAN, not a definitive, though in this case...). You equally are still a shitty person still. You're coming apart at the seams. Critique and hate aren't the same, and unfortunately you'll need adaptability and tough skin in this world as people can be very cruel. You lie. You twist like a constrictor. Charm the more susceptible. A very well known kissarse of yours on twitter who was quite the bully was followed by yourself, liked tweets then hired. They arent the only one either. Whilst you cannot be responsible for every single fans every single action, their are responsibilities you hold. Dont like tweets that encourage hate, dont reward negative behaviours, check your own public actions and how they may influence (act like a prick and those who admire you will mimic). Behind the scenes, treat people right. Dont play favourites. Always have integrity. Learn to incorporate critiques as well as filter out legitimate hate. I know it's not easy, but it's necessary to survive.

Viv, I can wholeheartedly empathise with receiving harsh hate early on in life and online. I know how that can taint and stunt the mind. But the thing is, you have to eventually break from that. BE responsible. Grow. Ive been toxic before. That's partially why I fixate on some of this. Equally Im angry. You ARE a VERY talented artist with potential. A shitty writer, do work on that (as well as diverse stories to tell - gain those experiences or listen to those who've been there - esp as you're doing this as a living) but when you're passionate about a piece, you're talented. And when you're not, you do what we all do and dole shite out (btw people thought I was bullying Viv when I said her P5 Alastor piece was bad in comparison to her other works. The proportions were awful, you could tell she just wanted it out the way. A startling lack of soul.) From what I've seen, you crave approval and admiration to compensate from the past cruelty. I can empathise. But that shit isnt healthy. And you block yourself from growth. You cultivate a tainted crop. You poison yourself. You sacrifice integrity and the gruelling work of improvement for the instant gratification of worship from fans by bending to their desires and your own at the cost of quality. What couldve been groundbreaking storytelling and visuals is nothing more than a glorified low-level fanfic. Wasted potential. Something I cant stand. I have been harsh as that same method helped me. In doing so, I disregarded your own humanity. I wish I conducted myself better and though I never encouraged abuse, I'm sorry that my words may have contributed to this shit cycle.

Your staff and many of your fans have... Concerning attributes, such as the fetishing of toxic relationships, blurred boundaries, disregard of boundaries, etc. The stark numbers of such unpleasant people flocking you is extremely worrying.

I do deeply dislike you. I do feel you have ultimately caused your own shit - been there - but I do pity you as well. I wish you'd go the effort to be you. To be less try hard. To allow growth and change, diversity, stop petting hatred. Get a better crowd, esp one willing to actually help you to be better by pointing shit out. To stop mass abusing others. I do dislike you greatly. I wish you would do better but all you've been doing is doubling down on shit. I feel Icarus needs to fly closer to the Sun for change to happen. It feels like the only way you may actually ground yourself and smell the roses. I just wish folk could be better as a whole. Sick of shit like this. Whilst no one is perfect, there's still standards to uphold. Growth to be had. Breach stereotypes and fetishes that dehumanise, work on yourself and your relationships with others. Careful on your humour and learn how to execute humour properly. Glad you're not doing beastiality art though. You cant please everyone and shouldnt have to in order to be admired and popular. Just be better. Also hating kids isnt a personality. I get not everyone cares about them but dont take shit too far. They can be gross and annoying but in the end they're just... Children. Theyre learning and growing. You can only hope they bloom into decent people. Admittedly a kid tripping is pretty funny but there's a limit. If you want to portray a creep, don't do anything that endorses their behaviours. Theyre vile, remember. No kid deserves that. Work on financing too. Medicating via shopping is a dangerous road. Dont bend to social pressures (such as getting wasted because friends do if you dont want to). Vet your staff. Better ethics.

Fandom

And the fans are just... A minority are lovely. I had a HuskerDust fan be respectful of our differences and hope the best for them. But the majority I've encountered or witnessed have been off their fucking heads. Often encouraged by Viv or staff. The staff and fans are now claiming that critics are homophobic racists falsely (which implies certain races, sexualities, identities, etc are absolved of criticism - which is both favouritism and it's own form of bigotry. Hell, it's spitting on the real victims of such crimes over mediocre cartoons and digital lunacy). These same people then insult people for... being cis and straight. Firstly, that's also bigotry and a dick move on identity and invalidation, it's also false in some cases (proving folks just spew shit), it demands special treatment for identities when we're all equal and deserve to be treated with equity, it's also just... Weak. Bigots can fuck off BUT many critiques have been about inconsistency in plots, writing and design issues, etc. Nothing pertaining identity.

Fans have been hypocritical like their idol. We're all hypocritical to an extent. But the madness... Ok, Blitzo uses retard (note: neurodivergant and have right to say that word, even then it also means delay "fire retardant" as well as where I live it's not nearly as bad as another term used yet is still fine in the US.) I think this isn't an issue as it can show things or speech patterns of the character. Then fans have falsely accused critics of ableism who either havent used the word, quoting this or even have right to say it yet coddle this fictional character. This was referenced in a recent episode with Blitzo about to call another character (rumours are this nurse is autistic but I do NOT have full confirmation. Pinch of salt!) retard before retracting it as it being unacceptable to say. Blitzo really wouldnt give a shit. Likewise I feel this is one of those permanant grey areas in fiction; is it? Isnt it? in terms of using terms. Of Mice and Men used slurs against black folk, that was to reflect that time and the character's mentalities. Not an author's mirror. Likewise, it wasn't used as humour either. Coming from ONE ND, I couldn't care. I feel this is hyperfocused on over more glaring issues, as well as a benefit of the doubt (being character mindset and possibly not author projection). Feel free to have your own opinions, and I only speak for myself there. I can empathise with those who may feel more sensitive to the word (which is why Im more careful in it's use) but as someone who is also technically affected, I just... Personally dont feel too bothered. Likewise, I'm learning to hold more human compassion and flexibility to error and human flaws rather than perfect standards (again, this wont justify or absolve. And more serious things like an assault doesnt apply. It's daft this needs clarifying, it should be the bare minimal). Not everyone will agree on everything, but there's just some lines that should be a standard. I think the staff and fans overall conduct themselves immaturely, cruelly, and cause harm.

I regret in engaging in some arguments. Not worth it. I think I shouldve been more compassionate to difference yet equally not been so volatile with harassment. HunterGirl's HD discord hate on me is... Something I shouldn't have fed. Hate me, that's fine. But the fact someone so close to Viv allowed the harassment is disappointing and shitty. Bitch behind the scenes but dont go out at people. Likewise behind the scenes talk, dont threaten folk either *Viv* (at one of your ex-staff). Call someone the biggest wanker you know but there are limits you dont cross. As with Viv and co, I once hoped for improvement but I just lack faith in that now and I'd just rather stay away from it all. Too much toxicity I've allowed myself to bathe in and hatred and venom only burns. Only burns more of the same product. It's not worth it. Don't even have the skills or assets to do any good from this either. If I can't help, itd be best to support those who can help whilst staying away from the vitriol. Stick to the facts and my own integrity. It's tiring to be involved in all... this. Again, I can only speak on myself hence why I'm only saying me shit. Any vents can be done to friends but otherwise none of this has resulted in any good. And I contributed to cruelty as well. It aint right.

Friendships

Bit more personal and past. Ive made many nice friends. Friends Im still friends with now, and I thank them. With certain issues arising, theyve been the anchors to ground and account me. Real friends. Friends that deserve to be shown more how appreciated they really are. Thank you. They have guided me into better awareness and accountability. We have our own little group now for art, gaming and hopefully any other group activities. Friend stuff. We'll rant, we'll vent, but we're actually doing friend shit now. Ive hyperfixated enough on negatives. Dragged others into an abyss with me. Its not fair for them.

There is a friend here, I think they dont see my stuff anymore idk. I was warned about them. Through all Ive seen and my experiences, I wish you to get help. Get off tumblr. Get off twitter. Both can be extremely toxic as well as cultivate toxicity. Be accountable. Get help. And focus on you. I still worry for you, though I am disgusted on some of your actions. Treat the living with respect. Learn that people will try to bait you. Let go of paranoia (not easy), confront your past and grow. And please... Dont lie. Dont lie about events that occur as you're creating your own misery. Learn to step back and not be so forceful and preachy. Been there, it's not a good place. Experience a diverse crowd on a human level. And please spend some time away from the internet. People really can be pricks sometimes. Even ourselves. You're also pretty hair trigger and tempered. A bit like me sometimes LOL. Learn to balance that. Trust me.

To mates on here who Ive only spoken to here, if you'd still like to be mates, I can link you our group if you're up for group art and gaming or activities, or to another social media account to chat.

To unanswered asks, I'll try but not promise to address them. Those which ended up deleted, I can only remember the one question sorry. And the answer is Sitri. Sitri would be a good HB replacement for Stolas, he's quite the love/lust expert and a focus on men. Fun chap! I had more for this answer but again, cant be arsed with this shit anymore. Sorry.

I joined a spindle critique group. What I learned is the union from bitterness isnt solid grounds for friendship. I wont go into details as it's a private and resolved matter. I shared the full log to current friends to have a neutral and raw take. These are friends I can trust will yank my chain if Im in the wrong. And they did. They spoke of the wrongs on both sides. These are folks who are guiding me to better. Folks I have trusted with the full log, full transparency. I appreciate you both and take your words into stride daily. To old friends, I would rather friends make their own choices. I never hated you, but was hurt on this other side of you. Likewise Im sorry to make you feel that way. Im sorry to have trauma dumped (recently discovered this term, and using it to manage myself better.) There was only one individual that I was given uneasy vibes on and made that clear from the start. I tried with them. For awhile, I even started to see them as a genuine friend. In the end, we were too clashing. We didn't mesh well. My initial feeling on the situation ultimately felt true. But when I open up about home issues and emotions, I dont want them weaponised. Especially as Ive been doing some irl work to find many holes in my perspective as well as others hard work in being involved with me. Things are different now. Never felt it needed in convo, I was too fixed on my own hurt. Home was self preservation at those times. I regret opening up over some personal issues. None of this absolves me of poorly handling situations and anger issues. Near the end, I felt more wary to be more open on certain things. But I shouldve been a better friend. I never liked how catty things got. Trolled. We all just became knobs in one way or another.

My ask to remove my triggers was me hoping to do good for you. Remove a trigger that would inevitably end up being a large part of the group sooner or later, maybe this summer. Especially as I 'lacked empathy'. I thought I was doing good. I never lied about it, and feel bitter that was twisted. If I explained something, I was wrong. Kept it brief, I was bitchy. I was willing to endure a trigger if it made things easier in the group, and the situation was more than a stupid ship. Ive had triggers Ive adapted to handle better now. And public, you are not entitled to my medical history however we're in an age where youre both valid and entitled to privacy yet must breach privacy to have a voice. I have an ED. A certain word wasn't even allowed in my presence without panic and flashbacks. I was a little girl then. And I managed to slowly ease the trigger word via gradual exposure - a replacement word, spelling the word, and eventually hearing the word. It - and what it has done to me - will always scar me. But I learned to handle it better in my own time. I dont need lecturing on how triggers work. Especially when each case is unique, each 'cure' is personalised. If you want to believe Im full of shit then... Do that. Im sorry for being a shitty friend at times and Im working on that, but outside opinions (note: these are done in private spaces so all parties are anon) have noted flaw on your end too. We all fucked up. The two things below the belt were the trigger claims (hence my example of my own experiences with another trigger) and my private issues shared in confidant are the two things I remain disgusted by. That doesnt justify my frustrations, dumping or behaviour. And my example is not a pity ploy either. We're separate now, and it's best that way.

Overall, being here, in this community and fandom, has done nothing but shit. Fuelled the worst in me and others (from what ive seen in public fandom spaces). I may do art and other creative endevours on spindle, but otherwise good riddance. Even if the purge is painful.

Another friend. Im in their group too. One to improve some creative skills. Appreciate being let in there, though I'll probably mainly lurk for tips. Thank you for allowing me to do so. Wording is honestly growing harder for me each day. It's helping me start the path of better expression.

Current and future

I word shit less. Not here, as this is long overdue. But trying to sum up more efficiently. Spending more time irl to improve myself and my life. Welcoming friends who we both can hold each other accountable and support. Focusing more on stuff to improve as well as enjoy. The world is so dismal. So I spend time doing other stuff. Im already mopey enough. Sorting things to refine and focus on enjoyments. Gaining skills to help others. Experienced some personal griefs/losses. And Im learning that people arent entitled to everything. Not quite there yet but Im learning. Im often in deep pain, so cant always do what I want to get done in a day.

Most likely, I will discontinue this. Besides others have been doing a brilliant job. Dont absorb yourself. You can control much of what you get exposed to, so what you can control, make it good! Have integrity, work on yourselves. Try not to be a dickhead but acknowledge where you are a dickhead and work on that. Balance is key to a healthy mind, take the good with the not so good. Take the time to simply sit outside and observe. Appreciate life. Similarities and differences. Nothing is perfect. No one is perfect. But have your standards. Learn. Grow.

Im in a lot of pain and have shit to do. Take care. I feel Viv, co, fans will only learn with drastics, haters need to learn empathy (haters as in stalker level folk), old friends Im sorry to hurt and equally feel hurt by. Best we've gone separate ways and moving on. Current friends I appreciate. That one person, please... PLEASE get help. Youre young, man- This shit is going to poison your very core. Make you into something shitty and cruel. And please treat animals with care. Me, still a twat but trying. Embrace truth, compassion and fairness with a firm angle. Or just avoid nasty shit.

Well, cya. Stay well. We're not going to be here forever.

#hazbin critical #helluva boss critical #criticial #end #moving on

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